


Unwound

by not_poignant



Series: The Fae Tales Verse - canon extras [7]
Category: Fae Tales - not_poignant, Original Work
Genre: Avoidance, BDSM, Collars, Dominance and Submission, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, PTSD, Puppyplay, Recreational Drug Use, bondage as security, chosen family, leashing, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/pseuds/not_poignant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn’t matter how many years Gwyn puts between himself and the past, he can never quite let it go. During those times when it gets worse, he drifts too far from Augus and loses sight of all the progress and love that he’s gained. Little does he know, those around him are aware, and work together to help Gwyn come back to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tentatively canonical hurt/comfort piece that is quite small, and set between _The Court of Five Thrones_ (approximately 4-5 years after Gwyn’s coronation as Unseelie King) and _The Ice Plague._ Multiple chapters, but short ones. Conservative rating for now, for mature themes and non-sexual bondage (which is coming in later chapter/s), but the rating could change. Hope you enjoy! I've really missed these guys. God have I ever.

Gwyn thought that Augus could have all the patience in the world for many things, but that there was a fractious irritation that moved through him when he had to do _paperwork._ Gwyn watched him from across the large study they’d set up after enough time in the Unseelie palace to realise they needed one.

Gwyn’s desk towered with stacks of paper, books, cups filled with quills and brushes, pots of ink, even a cleaned smooth shell used for mixing ink when he needed more of the unique colours that he made. Despite the clutter, the desk was still clean and orderly. Augus’ was more a controlled chaos. Every hour, it seemed another piece of parchment made a bid for freedom, fluttering off while Augus snatched at it a few times and then swore delicately under his breath and ignored it, going back to whatever he was working on.

Was it a knock on effect from once working for the Raven Prince? He was, after all, a King famous for finding sense in intense disarray. Had Augus simply gotten used to working in untidy and unorganised environments? Or was it just him? Had a lifetime of working with the ecosystems of a lake caused an ecosystem of an office to flourish messily but with meaning?

_Except that it makes him so irritated._

Gwyn pushed out his chair and quietly walked over, bending down to pick up the four pieces of parchment that had been lost over a period of time, and then placed them all back carefully on the desk.

Augus didn’t even look up, his quill scratching across a page.

Gwyn walked back to his desk, sat down, stared at what he was working on. Nothing terribly urgent. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to concentrate anyway.

It was an odd mood that had skated across his mind in the past few days. He’d been away for three weeks, travelling, brokering treaties, working alone because he’d simply needed to get _away_ from everything. Even Augus. Sometimes a sense overcame him that he was going about everything wrongly, and he would find himself teleporting first to the wasteland he’d made as a child with his light, and then going back to the castle only so he could hastily pack some items and leave without notice.

Highly un-Kingly, according to just about everyone, yet he couldn’t seem to make himself stop doing it.

Usually, by the time he returned, his thoughts were back in order again. Or at least, he could face the running of the Kingdom, he could look into Augus’ eyes and not feel as though he was harming him simply by existing. Simply by dragging Augus onto the path he’d dragged him onto.

Perhaps he hadn’t stayed out long enough this time, because it hadn’t worked.

Out of everyone, Augus was the one who had the most patience with Gwyn disappearing. Gwyn chalked that down to Augus living a life accustomed to his brother going off on jaunts for weeks or months before returning. They’d never really talked about it.

Since returning back from his travels a week ago, he and Augus hadn’t really talked at all. He didn’t get the sense Augus was wroth with him, because they wouldn’t be working in this study like so if that was the case.

It was as though he stepped out of place with life, and the echoes of his past became louder, knocking on doors that he never locked tightly enough. Old words slipped around him, reminded him of what he truly was. Sometimes he looked at Augus and saw not just someone so beautiful that he stole Gwyn’s breath, or so fragile that Gwyn wanted only to shield him from all that life might throw his way…

No, sometimes he looked at Augus and saw only how cruelly the world had treated him. The Nightingale, the Raven Prince, Gwyn, and all others since that wished to visit revenge upon him.

Sometimes Gwyn wished he could release Augus from all of it – his obligations to the Kingdom, his sense of being tied to certain courses in life…and certain _people._ But if Gwyn ever spoke such words, Augus would simply look at him like he was being foolish, attempt to steer Gwyn to a place that felt more comfortable, yet left Gwyn thinking that Augus had also appeased the Raven Prince and – though Augus talked little about that time – Augus would have tried to appease the Nightingale too.

Gwyn closed his ledger and cleaned off his quills. He felt like he was intruding now. Like he didn’t belong. As he stood to leave, Augus looked up at him, but his gaze was elsewhere, and a few seconds later he bent down and kept writing out his hurried chicken-scratch.

Gwyn opened his mouth to say he was leaving but then, that much was obvious wasn’t it?

As he closed the study door behind him, he found himself missing those moments of equilibrium that he’d found since becoming King of the Unseelie. Moments where he seemed to settle into a kind of confidence that came from being Unseelie, from living in the right place – even if he couldn’t be certain he was doing the right thing. But he wondered now if he was choosing the easy way, a path that hid the truth of the situation from him. Augus had pointed out to him before – even if it was a long time ago now – that Gwyn didn’t pay enough attention to others.

Gwyn sighed and walked off, not quite sure where he was going, only that he wished to give Augus space.

*

‘I don’t get it,’ Ash said, spinning around idly in what he called an ‘ergonomic office chair’ that he’d bought from the human world, and then actually _assembled_ even with the trows only too willing to help. ‘Why haven’t you talked to him properly since you’ve gotten back? You _know_ this kind of stuff is ridiculous, I mean…listen to you – it’s like, I don’t know…’

Ash forced himself to stop spinning in the chair, and then he pursed his lips and looked at Gwyn more closely. Often he started talking without really knowing where he was going with it, but every now and then he’d just _focus,_ and Gwyn would have to brace himself for whatever might be coming next.

If someone had told Gwyn, some time ago, that Ash would be someone he went to sometimes – to talk to, Gwyn would have laughed outright.

‘I have this like…theory,’ Ash said, frowning. ‘It’s that you only come to me to talk about this stuff because you think that deep down, I was right to treat you the way I did a few years ago, right? And so you come to me, and you wait for it, and then you get annoyed, or upset, or _whatever,_ because I don’t give it to you anymore. What do you want me to say, man? You want me to say that I think you’re the worst and shouldn’t see him? Why the fuck would I put up with you if I thought that? I barely put up with you when I _did_ think that. People _died_ because of the way I used to be about it.’

‘Others, yes. Not your actual target,’ Gwyn said.

Ash stared at him, and then he rolled his eyes in a way that was _so_ much like Augus, that Gwyn’s heart hurt. He felt like he hadn’t properly seen Augus in a month, and with how things were going, that was almost close to the truth.

‘Yeah,’ Ash said, the sound speculative, more than agreement. ‘Okay. You know this is just like…a hangover from your past, right? If you imagine your childhood like some kind of terrible drunken bender, this is like… Fuck analogies. Gwyn, you know this is bullshit, right?’

‘If you’re talking about anything you’re saying then yes, I agree.’

Ash squinted at him, and then leaned back in his chair and slowly folded his arms.

‘I’m gonna allow that one, because that was almost witty. Look at you go. Sledge me again though, and I’m gonna be mad.’

‘Do you not see sense in what I’m saying? I have done _terrible_ things, and I-’

‘-Just stop for a second,’ Ash said, arms falling down by his side. ‘What do you want from him? Like, just, if you could have anything right now – what would you want?’

‘This was a mistake,’ Gwyn said, turning to leave.

He got halfway across Ash’s lounge when he felt a fingers curl around his arm. He spun, hated it when people got his attention in such a manner, but Ash had already let go, had that stubborn look in his eyes.

‘Whatever you tried running from this time, you obviously didn’t get away from it,’ Ash said. ‘There’s a hundred thousand movies and TV shows out there that teach you that running away from shit doesn’t often get you want you want, but since you haven’t _seen_ any of those, I can spell it out for you. Y’know, free of charge.’

Gwyn stared at him, and Ash shrugged, and then he reached out and took Gwyn’s shirt hem up in his fingers and gently dragged Gwyn back into his lounge. Then, Gwyn found himself pushed – with one finger at his good shoulder – onto a couch that held the scents of so many people he cared for.

‘I hate that they got to you like this,’ Ash said, sitting next to him on the couch. ‘But that’s how it works. The bad stuff is always a lot more convincing than anything good. But that doesn’t make the good stuff a lie. Just because something’s hard to believe, doesn’t mean it’s a lie. I wish you’d go to him and just fucking _talk_ to him already.’

‘I don’t want to talk to him,’ Gwyn said. ‘I have nothing to say that he’ll agree with, and I don’t…’

_I don’t want him to just keep agreeing to being imprisoned. What if he’s hated it all this time?_

‘Then don’t talk to him,’ Ash said, not in a belligerent manner, but as though he’d just come up with a solution. ‘Don’t talk to him. Show him. Let him, I dunno, I can’t believe I’m saying this – let him take over for a while. Let him do what he does best.’

‘Sometimes I believe he falls into this trap where he thinks everything is fine, because I let him…do what he does best, as you say, and then the reality is-’

‘-Yeah, this is ridiculous,’ Ash said. ‘You don’t want to hear what I’m saying, you just want me to agree with you because I used to hate you. Tough shit. I don’t actually hate you. At all. Sometimes you piss me off, in that normal _family_ kind of way that even Augus does. Which means you’re _family.’_

Gwyn stood, and grit his teeth together when Ash reached out for him again. This wasn’t working. This wasn’t anything like what he needed.

‘Gwyn,’ Ash said. ‘Shit. Maybe- Look, do you want to just sit here for a while? And not talk. Because I don’t think talking is really going to help right now. For a few minutes, yeah?’

‘Thank you for your time,’ Gwyn said, and he was gone just as Ash swore again and stood up, apparently only just realising that Gwyn really _was_ done with the conversation.

When Gwyn closed the door behind him, he made sure to teleport away, because he wasn’t in the mood for a chase.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moar! I won't always be updating this fast, but I want to get to the chapter that Augus is in (which is the next chapter), because he's in every chapter after that too (so far - also there's 6 chapters in total so far and more to be written). 
> 
> Also, oh god, I really didn't expect so many people to be missing these guys too. I actually am really grateful, because I just thought 'I'll be happy if three other people read it' so you know, thank you.

It was a week later – Gwyn keeping himself busy and on tasks that took him away from the palace – and the feeling that he was out of step with the world only grew in strength. It was almost like being Unseelie in the Seelie Kingdom once more. Gwyn felt like he was missing something, not doing enough, not offering enough.

He knew leaving wasn’t the answer, but he had an acute sense that his presence was somehow damaging.

The more time he spent alone, the more certain of it he became. The swathes of destruction he’d caused. The people he’d killed. The fae he’d hurt. How could he stay around those he cared for?

Even walking through thick, healthy forest wasn’t helping. He stayed alert and aware, avoided the deer and the owls, the lone falcon pair and the badger sett. He came to a stop by a small babbling creek and looked down upon it, thinking that even here, perhaps he’d never belonged.

The Wild Hunt was no longer, and he was the one who had called together the event that would be the last. He was the one who had invited Vane. The one who had failed to see what was in front of him. The red band of leather knotted at his ankle chafed at him, and he stared down into clear water, the stones and leaves beneath it. Years, it had been, and he was certain he’d put those things to rest. Sunk them down beneath the water – some metaphor Augus might have appreciated.

Gwyn bent down and scooped up a bit of the creek, drank it down, sweet with minerals and those nutrients it stripped from stone and leaf both.

He’d even been neglecting his hound, leaving Grip’s care to Ach’for and Ash. He’d avoided sparring with Gulvi. He’d only taken meetings with those that weren’t quite friends. Ifir was always ready to criticise, even as he offered useful, necessary advice. Zudanna, though, was too caring, and Gwyn had cancelled three meetings with her in a month.

Eventually, someone would point it out to him. They all gave him more leeway than perhaps they’d give other monarchs. Perhaps because the alternative options for Unseelie King weren’t that appealing to those within the Kingdom. Perhaps because they called him the Wild King already, and had taken the stag symbolism to heart, treating him as some creature that needed to disappear into the heart of forests like the King of the Forest – not seen now since the last Wild Hunt – once did.

But Gwyn wasn’t a stag. Right now, he wasn’t even wearing any items that connected him to the stag. His neck bare of a collar with stag’s head, antlers and ivy entwined.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in the bed he was meant to share with Augus. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d visited his cabin by Augus’ lake, or Augus’ home within the lake itself.

He stood, staring blankly in the forest, torn somewhere between the very distant past that breathed coldly down the back of his neck, and the memory that there was warmth to be had with Augus, if he would just…go back to the palace. If he would just ask.

Gwyn inhaled sharply through his nose and teleported – not to the palace – but to another forest, this one further away.

*

It was Fenwrel who found him next, no doubt having activated the tracking spell she’d not asked permission before placing. He’d felt the magic of it at the time, and stared at her as she placed it. And she’d only carefully woven the spell with small twitches of her staff and stared back at him, challenge in her dark eyes, as though daring him to ask her to stop. The last time he’d had one, it had been forced upon him by a Seelie mage, and they’d had a difficult time removing it. He wasn’t a fan of tracking spells, even as he commissioned Fenwrel to use them on others.

She found him by the sea, her sari rippling lightly in breezes that were chill but gentle.

‘Ash has spoken with me,’ Fenwrel said, when she drew even with him, staring out into the waves and the selkies dancing in the foamy spray. ‘Augus too, now.’

‘You can see I’m hale, so if you wish-’

‘You must think I’m quite stupid,’ Fenwrel said, ‘to think that you can treat with me as you treat with them. You are the _King,_ there are systems within that Kingdom that will begin to falter if you are not _seen._ If you wish to do less work, that is a matter easily adjusted. If, however, you wish to remain _unseen,_ then please – implore upon a Master Mage like myself to make a doppelganger to walk about in your place and pretend to be you.’

‘Could you do it?’

Fenwrel’s sigh was loud enough that Gwyn heard it over the sea.

‘You are being deliberately opaque,’ Fenwrel said. ‘My children do it to me sometimes. It doesn’t work when they do it, either.’

‘This again,’ Gwyn said.

Fenwrel had a habit of treating them all as _children._ Gulvi was the one who tended to get angriest about it, but even Gwyn had taken Fenwrel aside a few times and talked to her about it. Fenwrel tended to have the peaceable rejoinder that if everyone in the Inner Court didn’t act so much like children in the first place, it wouldn’t be a problem.

‘Do you miss your mother?’ Fenwrel asked, and Gwyn startled. Fenwrel couldn’t see it, but Gwyn knew his heart had stumbled.

‘No,’ Gwyn said. It was an untruth. But how could he claim to miss someone who had treated him so badly, when he didn’t miss his father at all? Efnisien too, he missed, and that he found even harder to explain, because he’d hardly cared when Augus had killed him. At the time, he’d only felt the inconvenience of it, and the fear of thinking he might be next.

Now, though, he found himself thinking back to excruciating times at the An Fnwy estate with something almost like _nostalgia._

‘It is a rare Unseelie son who doesn’t miss his mother,’ Fenwrel said. ‘Even a mother like Crielle.’

‘I wasn’t raised Unseelie,’ Gwyn said, as he turned the words over.

‘You do realise that I am going to return to that palace, and tell Augus that he’s right to be concerned?’

Then, Gwyn turned to her, frowning. Fenwrel kept staring out at the sea, unconcerned with their height difference, and only once reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair back into the sleek knot of black hair above her head.

‘I could order you not to,’ Gwyn said.

‘You need me and my services far more than you need to prosecute me publically for treason, should I ignore your direct orders. Make it a King’s order if you wish, Gwyn, I’m not going to return and lie for you. You can lie for yourself, you’ve made it perfectly clear that you can lie _to_ yourself, so I hardly see the difference.’

‘Do you talk like this to Gulvi?’ Gwyn said.

‘She doesn’t like it either,’ Fenwrel said. Gwyn could hear the smile in her voice, then.

‘Don’t tell him,’ Gwyn said, not as an order now, but something quieter. ‘Tell him I’m hale.’

‘Tell him yourself,’ Fenwrel said.

‘I can’t,’ Gwyn said, then turned to look back at the sea when he realised that she was going to look at him. Now she wanted to get a read of whatever might be playing upon her face.

‘Then I will,’ Fenwrel said.

Gwyn thought she’d stay longer – to argue, to persuade – but instead she turned and walked away, and he caught the faint gleams of red and orange in the corners of his vision meaning that she’d teleported away.

He knew that he couldn’t keep running as he had been. Felt a little like Fenwrel had done the equivalent of call a wayward child home for dinner. But now he would return to a concerned Augus, and he’d wanted to _avoid_ that, even as he’d not quite known how to. He could pretend everything was fine, but Augus always saw through it anyway.

He didn’t know what to do, so he stood and watched the selkies in the sea, and wondered if their life was any bit as carefree as they made it seem.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expecting to update on Sunday as well, and then hopefully Friday again! Still want to keep up with two days a week. We actually have an Augus saying hello now! *bounces*

Gwyn returned two days later, because the guilt at leaving his duties undone for so long was clawing at him. It wasn’t like him to be so irresponsible. Any guilt he felt about leaving Augus for so long had drowned beneath the surety that Augus was better off. Perhaps Augus wouldn’t understand it in the short-term, but the long-term would have Augus seeing sense, and then Gwyn’s distance would just make everything easier. For all of them.

That evening, after showering forest and sea and river from his body and feeling as though the castle were leaning hard upon his shoulders, he dried his hair with a towel and blinked in shock when Augus entered the room. This wasn’t their bedroom. Augus shouldn’t have known he was here.

_It’s Fenwrel, you need to get a better grasp of her, not that any King ever has a good grasp of their Mages._

Gwyn was surprised when Augus didn’t say anything at all. He only stood there. Today he wore more formal clothing, the dark green glossy shirt with its collar and buttons, pants that were form-fitting and leather, and boots all the way up to his knees. He’d been out, then, and likely working in his capacity as diplomat. Even his hair was tied back, ribbons of green keeping his hair loosely back, guiding where his mane would drip. Augus simply stood – managing to make it look effortless and casual – yet he was clearly blocking Gwyn’s exit.

_I can teleport. It’s fine. I can just teleport away._

Gwyn folded the towel once he was done with it, and then picked up the shirt on the bed, dressing as though this was normal. As though he hadn’t just been avoiding Augus for weeks on end. It was as he pulled on the shirt that his shoulder twinged, a pain far sharper than usual. But of course, he’d not been letting Augus do whatever work he did to the nerves there. He wouldn’t ask. Couldn’t. Yet another thing that he just _took._

When he was dressed, it was harder to pretend everything was fine. Augus still blocked the doorway, and Gwyn teleporting away would clearly look like _running._ Even if that’s what he was doing, the warrior in him chafed to do it so obviously.

So he stood there, barefoot, his toes curling into the thick rug that the trows had put in the room at some point. He’d not asked them to do it, and yet they had.

Augus would have normally said _something_ by now.

Gwyn risked meeting Augus’ gaze, expecting something disapproving. Instead, something passive, unreadable. Even after all this time, Gwyn couldn’t read all of Augus’ moods or expressions. He looked aside again. It hurt to be this close to him and not just…walk over. Like it was easy. Wasn’t that the place they’d found together? It had been _easy._

But Gwyn didn’t trust that, and he wasn’t sure it was supposed to be easy.

‘All right,’ Augus said, finally, as though Gwyn had been explaining himself the entire time. Gwyn only shook his head minutely, and wondered if walking back into the bathroom and _then_ teleporting away would look more like running, or less.

‘I think waiting for you to actually start speaking to me in your own time is, as it turns out, utterly useless,’ Augus drawled, ‘because every now and then you do this remarkable impression of a boulder. Immoveable and voiceless. So you’re going to not talk for a while, I’ve decided. And I’m going to treat you as something like a client today. Best not teleport, you know that will just make it harder later on.’

Gwyn said nothing at all, didn’t know _what_ to say. When Augus turned and walked towards the door, Gwyn took a hesitant step forward and then stopped. Augus only clucked under his tongue and beckoned, and then Gwyn followed, but slowly, and warily.

Augus led him down mostly empty corridors. Every now and then they’d chance upon some trows that would quickly disappear upon being sighted – still shy about being spotted when not being asked to do something.

It was their shared study that they ended up in. Gwyn hesitated at the threshold of the doorway, surprised. Augus only walked over to his desk and pointed at some point behind it, next to his chair.

‘You,’ Augus said, with the authority of someone expecting to be obeyed. ‘Kneel here.’

It wasn’t being asked to kneel that was the problem. Gwyn didn’t chafe at those sorts of things as he used to – not around Augus, anyway. It was the sense that none of this was going the way it was supposed to. He turned to look back at the door, and then startled when he felt fingers touching his arm. Just Augus, but Gwyn hadn’t even heard him approach, the echoes from the past louder than ever.

‘Go on,’ Augus said, his voice quieter than before.

Gwyn stared at him for a little while, then walked over to the space behind Augus’ desk. There was no cushion on the ground, but it was obvious where Augus had meant him to sit – by Augus’ chair.

Augus locked the door behind them both. He only came back to his desk once Gwyn had knelt on hard tile. His knees were sore, but it was nothing too distracting. He folded his hands into his lap and looked at the wood of the table in front of him. It was pitted and old, but sturdy. It needed to be relacquered. He looked up and saw a stack of books, some with the spines facing him, some with the spines facing away. He disliked that kind of disorder, but aside from the fingers of his left hand twitching, he let them be.

‘All right,’ Augus said again, this time more to himself than anything. He settled in his upholstered chair and pulled it into the desk, then opened a folder and brought out some parchment. He didn’t speak to Gwyn again, he didn’t say anything else. A few seconds later, the sound of a quill being dipped into ink, the excess being wiped away, and then that hurried messy scratch that would be barely legible, yet helped keep their foreign affairs in order.

Gwyn tried not to fidget, but it was hard with nothing to do. His knees ached a bit more, he couldn’t seem to relax. This wasn’t…the way they normally did anything. He expected a lecture, or exasperation, or even anger. Instead, Augus ignored him and worked, and Gwyn felt like he’d been tucked out of sight. If someone came into the study, they wouldn’t even see him, so Gwyn wasn’t sure why Augus had locked the door.

Gwyn scratched slowly and quietly at the inside of his palm, nervous. There was something faintly pleasant about being so close to Augus’ leg. He could scent leather, boot polish. This close, he could look down and see that Augus kept his heeled boots flat on the floor, rather than crossing his legs at the ankle, or digging his heel or toes down into the ground, as Gwyn so often did.

More time passed, and Gwyn risked looking up. Augus paid him no attention at all, looking between two different lists of numbers – from what Gwyn could see through the undersides of the paper – and then putting both down and crossing out an entire column of something.

Gwyn looked ahead of him again. He was hungry, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten properly. And tired too, he hadn’t slept for at least a month. Augus would be angry if he knew.

But Augus wasn’t asking him, and Gwyn risked closing his eyes and pretending that he wasn’t out of step with the world. Maybe he could pretend that it was three months earlier. That he was comfortable, and Augus was content.

_He is never content. He can never be, after all he has experienced._

Gwyn inhaled sharply and swallowed, opened his eyes to stare at the desk again.

A warm pressure on the top of his head and he flinched, then began to look up when he realised it was Augus’ hand – a palm resting upon his hair, fingers threading through, a thumb just above his ear.

Gwyn expected Augus to say something, but he didn’t. He just left his hand there as he perused other papers. At one point, he lifted his hand from Gwyn’s head to get the fifth book down from the stack, but afterwards, he returned back to that careful, claiming touch upon Gwyn’s head.

It was strange, different, tender and yet impersonal. Gwyn swallowed again and folded his hands tightly and waited to see what Augus might do.

But Augus did nothing more than that, for the next half hour. Sometimes he carded his fingers through Gwyn’s hair – which was far longer than usual. Augus had called it ‘too shaggy’ a month ago, so goodness knew what it looked like now. Sometimes he kept his palm still. Twice, he traced his thumb over the shell of Gwyn’s ear.

The touches sensitised him, made him feel attuned to Augus, made it easier to ignore the pain in his knees.

Sometimes Augus would move his hand away again to look for another book, to open a drawer and bring out an item of stationery.

Two hours later, Augus stood, pushing his chair back into the desk.

‘Do whatever you wish,’ Augus said with a quiet touch to the back of Gwyn’s head. ‘But be back here before lunch tomorrow, kneeling by the desk. Goodnight.’

Augus walked past him without another look, and Gwyn watched him go, unable to move, staring at Augus’ back and belatedly wanting to fit his hands to Augus’ waist.

Augus unlocked the door, opened it, and closed it behind him. Gwyn stayed on his knees beneath the glowing balls of werelight in the room, thinking that he had no idea what had just occurred, but that he hadn’t hated it…and maybe he would turn up the following morning as Augus had commanded. He couldn’t think of what else he should do now, anyway.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly forgot my basic roman numerals, that was nearly super embarrassing. :D
> 
> Next update should be Thursday/Friday! Here, have some Julvia. The world needs more of the Dubna Vajat sisters.

Gwyn wasn’t sure what ‘before lunch tomorrow’ meant, exactly. He turned up in the early morning and the study was empty, and Gwyn turned a full circle and then tried not to think too hard about what he was doing as he walked over to Augus’ desk and knelt by Augus’ chair. He’d managed to scrounge up something to eat in the late evening, not much at all, but the trows had bought him bits and pieces of many foods: a small square of hard cheese, a sliver of sausage, half an apple. Perhaps it wasn’t very Kingly fare, but Gwyn was more likely to eat if the food was piecemeal.

Eyes closed, he listened for sounds and heard nothing at all. No trows nearby, not even in the corridor. Not the shifting or creaking of beams. Only his breath in his lungs. He folded his hands in his lap, thought that he could feel the ghost of a hand in his hair and almost reached up and mimicked Augus’ touch.

No, it was never the same.

He felt like he was giving in, losing the fight. It abraded him from the inside. He was Gwyn ap Nudd, and he did not _lose._

But there were some battles he didn’t want to win. A weakness in the core of him, that he wished to belong somewhere, even if he was hurting the people he loved.

Eyes open again, he reached for the book at the top of the stack and pulled it down, opened it carefully and flicked through the old pages. This one was hand-scribed, one of the Raven Prince’s tomes of how to conduct diplomatic relationships amongst the Unseelie. He’d been one of the first Kings to ascribe different methods into canon, and Gwyn could see strips of green ribbon – frayed at the edges – where Augus had placed bookmarks. At least thirty of them.

Gwyn carefully looked through the pages, first going to those sections that Augus had marked out. Gwyn was surprised how many water fae species were among them, since Augus was somewhat famous for _not_ working with them.

_Does he hope to in the future? Is that why he places the bookmarks like so?_

Gwyn frowned, the musty-sweet smell of old parchment in his nose, and thinking that he would never know all there was to know about Augus. Never know him in those days he spent digesting food at the bottom of his lake, or those times he actively hunted. Even if he asked Augus about the meaning of the bookmarks, Augus might never share them.

Gwyn loved the mystery of him, but he knew it meant that Augus could hide dissatisfaction with Gwyn. Perhaps Augus was so good at living imprisoned, he folded it into the mystery of himself: something Gwyn was too blind to see.

He placed the book back, shifted on the tiles. He didn’t know how long he was supposed to wait, and he was beset with the knowledge that this was…this was a way he’d try and make himself feel better. He’d pretend that Augus was in control of everything, and he’d go along with it, and he’d let his soul be soothed.

Gritting his teeth together, he stood and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him and walking down several of the corridors until he could lean against the wall of a quieter one. His whole chest felt tight. He opened his mouth, felt like it was hard to draw breath into his lungs. Even his throat strained. But after a few minutes, he calmed. He wondered where he might go. There were still a few hours to go before it was lunchtime, so he kept walking deeper into the palace, ashamed that he was even thinking of going back.

He ended up walking past the laundering rooms, then stopped when – in an open, airy room with great windows that led to the starry sky beyond – he saw Julvia sitting in a rocking chair, her wings splayed to allow the back of the chair to support her properly. She rocked herself with the tip of one laced sandalled foot on the ground, and she held an embroidery hoop in one hand, a needle in the other.

‘You can come in, Your Majesty,’ Julvia said, without looking up.

Gwyn entered, taking measure of the room. On the wall were embroidered hangings, on a rack was a folded quilt, and on the table nearby, several table runners all patterned in flowers, birds, consummate lettering. There were more since the last time he’d been by. A swan maiden peacefully embroidering vivid, beautiful items was more true to form than the chaotic, vicious Gulvi.

‘How are you feeling?’ Gwyn asked.

‘Well, thank you,’ Julvia said, carefully placing the needle through some threads at the back of the hoop and setting it down upon her lap. She didn’t stop rocking. ‘You?’

‘Well,’ Gwyn said.

Julvia smiled at him warmly, and though the smile was completely genuine, Gwyn knew that she didn’t believe him for a second.

‘I’ve had…better times,’ Gwyn said, finally.

Julvia tucked one side of the curtain of her white hair behind her ear with a black clawed finger. She was far more swan-like than Gulvi, having very black eyebrows and lashes, and naturally dark brown lips. There was black webbing between her fingers and toes. From here, Gwyn could see the locket of feathers that grew from the base of her neck down to her sternum, even though most of it was covered by a pale cream dress. She wore a wreath of pale pink flowers in her hair. He supposed, by the standards of others, she might be considered exceptionally pretty. Certainly, she had already had many suitors try to court her favour in the palace, though she’d resisted all of them – those that Gulvi hadn’t already chased off with threats and knives.

‘Mama used to say that sometimes a bird got a look about them,’ Julvia said, that warmth still in her black eyes. ‘Migrating birds always want to go home again, but sometimes their home is damaged or even ruined, and they can never truly go home again. You have that look about you. If you don’t mind my saying so, Your Majesty.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Gwyn said. ‘I don’t really want to…return to my home. It wasn’t a place I hold fond memories of.’

Julvia had a way about her, she invited confidences without ever really trying to. Augus had said – repeatedly over the years – that she was perplexing, disquieting, unnerving. Apparently Julvia had tried to be his friend many times, much to Gulvi’s consternation, and Gwyn’s secret concern that perhaps Julvia was just trying to get close to him to enact her revenge.

But the more he got to know Julvia, the more he felt that perhaps she was just…peaceable. A genuine pacifist, the way swan maidens were meant to be. But how was it possible, when she shared Gulvi’s blood?

‘It’s an abstraction,’ Julvia said, leaning back in the rocking chair and letting the tip of one wing sweep the floor slowly. ‘I like abstractions. Love is an abstraction. The soul is another. Swan maidens are very concerned with love and souls and things that can’t ever be defined to the satisfaction of most.’

‘Your sister, too?’

‘Gulvi,’ Julvia said, grinning, ‘my wayward sister.’

‘She’s been Queen, you know. Not so wayward as all that.’

‘I wasn’t around for that part,’ Julvia said, shrugging her wings. ‘I still find it hard to imagine, except not so very hard to see her commanding others, yes? Was she a good Queen?’

‘She could be a great Queen,’ Gwyn said.

‘I like the way you speak,’ Julvia said. ‘You are saying she was adequate, but that she is unfurled, like the frond of a fern. One day, she will blossom and there will be glory. And you believe it truly, don’t you? She has always just been an unseemly younger sister to me. An errant cygnet. Even when she graduated from the Council of Lammergeiers and got those absurd tattoos, I thought that. Do you know she treats me as though she is the older sister now? What a novelty.’

Gwyn wasn’t sure what to say, and Julvia looked down at her hoop of embroidery and traced the stitching – a hare, Gwyn thought, beneath a sickle moon.

‘My father used to speak like you,’ Julvia said, looking up again. ‘But he was also a King. Well, a Swan-Lord, which isn’t quite the same.’

‘Innokenti,’ Gwyn said, ‘he was a King. One doesn’t need to be King of an alignment to earn the title.’

‘And so,’ Julvia said, in agreement. ‘Mama said we were none of us princesses, until we earned it. But her cheeks would turn red when we called her Queen, and sometimes, as she tucked us into our nest-home beds at night, she would whisper ‘princess’ into our ears. Even Gulvi’s. Did your Mama ever whisper that you were her little prince? Did she tuck you in and tell you how lordly you were?’

Gwyn knew his expression had turned blank. This was a dangerous subject around anyone. He was certain Julvia knew very well that Gwyn’s home life had featured no such things.

‘Your Majesty,’ Julvia said, ‘you have given your heart to someone. And once you have done that, they become your home. It’s all abstractions on the surface of it, but if you look deep beneath the water – as swans are meant to do with our long necks – you will see that there is a very simple truth there.’

‘Will I?’ Gwyn said, thinking that he hadn’t really been seeing any such thing lately.

‘Go to your home, Your Majesty. Look for the truth there.’

‘You’d tell me to return to someone who destroyed your beloved?’

Julvia didn’t even wince. She only sighed, blinked slowly, then looked aside. For long moments she said nothing at all. Eventually, when Gwyn was beginning to think he should apologise, she said – while looking out of the great windows:

‘That waterhorse is terrified of forgiveness as one might be terrified of a scythe searching a neck. But you, as well, you fear it. I still like the way you speak, Your Majesty, even as you try and bait me on a hook, so I become distracted by that instead of that lost look you carry about you. If I needle at you as I do at this linen, it is only to bring the truth out of both. You need not stay out of obligation. It’s silly to make yourself stay if I’ve hurt you. You are the King.’

‘It’s rude to walk out on princesses,’ Gwyn said, smiling crookedly.

Julvia’s eyes shone, and she took a large breath, sighed it out. The smile she gave was whimsical.

‘I can almost see it,’ Julvia said, ‘I can almost see why he gave his heart in return.’

‘Do you think he did so wrongly?’ Gwyn said, a chill moving across him.

‘I think the more pertinent question, Your Majesty, is – do you?’

Julvia picked up the embroidery hoop, slid out the needle, and began her work once more. She looked up at Gwyn and smiled again, but Gwyn knew when a conversation was over. He bowed slightly and then excused himself, leaving and feeling that sometimes one of the downsides of living amongst fae, was that everyone seemed to have some pithy turn of phrase to say as though their words were being scribed somewhere. It was, as Augus might say, ‘vexing.’

In the end, he wandered back to the study and knew he still had hours to wait until lunch.

He walked back into the room, closed the door behind him and went over to Augus’ desk. He knelt in exactly the same spot as before and closed his eyes.

He wasn’t any closer to knowing if he was doing the right thing, but he was practiced at enduring something as minor as aches in his knees, or the slow throb of his shoulder. It wasn’t as though he was going to find any clearer answers away from Augus, so perhaps waiting for him was the only thing left to do.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Augus pushes a bit (in the way that only Augus can, lol), and Gwyn finds some space in which to feel comforted. (Woot, some comfort from the hurt/comfort part of the tag!)

Gwyn’s head was bowed slightly forward when Augus entered, his eyes were still closed. He felt naked somehow, despite wearing clothing. Augus didn’t greet him, didn’t even sigh or make some other noise that indicated his mood. He just walked over to his desk, pulled out his chair, sat down. He placed a few items on the table, and Gwyn didn’t look up at them. Augus had asked him to wait in the same position as last time, and it was all he really had to do.

But then Augus picked up one of the items off the desk and leaned towards Gwyn. The smell of leather, and then a strip of it against his neck, and Gwyn jolted, eyes flying open.

‘Quiet,’ Augus said, his voice soft, the command absolute.

Gwyn froze as Augus placed the leather collar – a _collar_ – around his neck and Gwyn reached up as Augus began buckling it into place.

Augus removed one of his hands from the collar, grasped one of Gwyn’s wrists, and then with the force of someone who was Inner Court, pushed Gwyn’s forearm back down.

‘No,’ Augus said.

This wasn’t the delicate, beautifully wrought metal collar that Augus had made for him, this was... Gwyn felt his hands drop to his lap, but he stared ahead, affronted, wanting nothing more than to rip it away. It was something one would use to collar a hound. It was possibly a collar that had been _used_ to collar a hound in the past.

When Augus slid two fingers beneath the collar to check the fit – exactly like Gwyn would do with a hound himself – Gwyn jerked away and was surprised when Augus let him.

He stilled, tried to calm his breathing. He didn’t risk looking at Augus, didn’t want to see disappointment on his face, or anything else, not even approval. His senses were too raw, and he spent several seconds just trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was now collared like an animal.

When Augus lifted the leash – a cheap, brown leather leash – off the table, Gwyn staggered upright and pushed himself away from Augus’ desk.

He expected Augus to stop him, but Augus didn’t.

Augus only sat there, having taken the leash off the desk, now coiling it so that it rested over one hand.

‘Kneel back down,’ Augus said, pointing to the space where the tiles would still be warm from Gwyn’s body heat.

Gwyn opened his mouth, but the words he wanted to say wouldn’t come. He even cleared his throat, tried again, and there was nothing. What would he say? That he hated it? He didn’t. But he knew he _should_ , and he knew that Augus would know that too. Augus was doing this on purpose. Was it a punishment? But…no, Augus was normally very clear when something was to be a punishment.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, the word pinging at his concentration. ‘Kneel here, please. Or you can go wherever else you wish in the castle, or…wherever your travels have been taking you lately. But if you’re going to stay in here, you will kneel.’

The tips of Gwyn’s fingers were cold as he ran them along the collar itself. The fit was snug. He’d feel the weight of a leash on it. This had been something Augus had joked about doing in the past a few times, but he’d never actually done it.

Gwyn hesitated for a long time, but Augus ignored him, holding the leash in one hand while he pored over paperwork.

Slowly, Gwyn returned to his position on the ground, apprehensive. Only five seconds after he’d placed his hands in his lap, fingers locked tightly, Augus leaned towards him again. Gwyn tensed, and then squeezed his eyes shut when Augus lifted the hair at the back of his head and clipped the leash to the collar.

It took a lot of energy to stay put, to not bolt. He could feel Augus’ hand holding the other end of the leash. Gwyn wasn’t sure what he’d wanted, but this was-

-Augus placed his other hand on the top of Gwyn’s head carefully, sliding fingers into his hair, rubbing at his scalp. It was like some kind of magic. Gwyn felt tension winding out of him, even though he was knotted up from the collar and leash both. Augus leaned closer and hushed him, even though Gwyn hadn’t spoken or made a noise, and the sound was gentle, even forgiving. Gwyn’s head bowed forward again, and Augus rewarded him by tracing his ear, shifting and running a thumb along Gwyn’s jaw. Then, Augus’ fingers drifted down and stroked Gwyn’s neck, always bumping into the collar, as though deliberately reminding him it was there.

Gwyn’s breath shook, he felt gooseflesh crawl across his skin.

‘Settle,’ Augus said, as Gwyn said to Grip sometimes, when he was too boisterous for the inside of the palace. Gwyn wasn’t sure how he felt about _that_ either, but Augus murmured the word again and kept stroking Gwyn’s neck.

And Gwyn, his cheeks and ears warm, pressed his lips together and was glad that Augus couldn’t see his face.

‘I just want you to kneel here for a time,’ Augus said, as he centred himself back in his chair once more. He kept a hold of the leash, looped it around his wrist, so that every time he moved his arm to reach for something, Gwyn felt the vibrations of it in his neck.

Augus still reached out and touched his hair sometimes, but every time he did, he’d also touch the collar, or fiddle with the buckle at the back of Gwyn’s neck. He drew attention to it, and Gwyn couldn’t quite settle into it. At least the collar Augus had made for him specially was like jewellery. This was…

Gwyn hated that he liked it, he hated it enough that he couldn’t just accept it, that he chafed beneath the obvious metaphor. Clearly, if Gwyn was going to go wandering all the time and not offer up reasons for it, Augus would leash him back into place.

Gwyn wasn’t stupid, he knew that’s what Augus was doing.

There was a knock on the door, mid-afternoon, and Gwyn jerked to hear it. Augus moved his chair sideways, and then tugged gently on the leash, and Gwyn realised that Augus wanted him properly behind the desk so that he wouldn’t be seen. Which meant he was going to invite whoever was there into the study. Gwyn hissed, and Augus only tugged more sharply, so that Gwyn’s head jerked twice.

Reluctantly, Gwyn scooted over so that he was hiding behind the desk, and Augus dropped the leash into his lap – while still keeping a tight hold on it – and called:

‘Come in, please.’

Gwyn ducked his head, cringed when he heard the door open.

‘I was just wondering if you would like some afternoon tea, Sir.’ It was Sapwill, one of the new fae that had been hired a few months ago. Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut. He knew he couldn’t be seen, but there were some things he wouldn’t ever want his servants to see. The trows were another matter, but the common fae and other hired species...

He reached up silently to undo the buckle at the back of his neck, because he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ be seen like this. Kneeling was one thing, but with the collar and leash, he was the _King,_ it couldn’t be borne, it just-

Augus carefully touched his fingers to Gwyn’s at the buckle, and then he tightened his grip until Gwyn couldn’t undo the buckle without making noise.

‘No, thank you, Sapwill.’

‘As it please you, Sir,’ Sapwill said.

A few seconds later, the door closed, and Gwyn risked a small, faint growl as he attempted to tug his hand out of Augus’ grip.

‘Oh no, I’m afraid you’re keeping this on until my work’s done.’

‘Why-’

Augus turned faster than seemed possible, and then Gwyn’s voice muffled against the palm that slapped against his mouth. The motion was hard and forceful enough to sting.

_‘No,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn’s nostrils flared, his breathing came faster. ‘You’re not ready to talk yet, and I don’t want to hear any dissent from you. If you don’t want this, don’t turn up tomorrow.’

Augus didn’t remove his hand, not even when Gwyn’s shoulders sagged and he tried to indicate that he wasn’t going to fight anymore. Eventually, Augus spread his fingers as though checking to see if Gwyn would try and speak through the gap, and when Gwyn did nothing more than breathe, Augus curled his fingers and gently caressed Gwyn’s cheek.

‘There,’ Augus said. ‘That’s very good.’

The praise was so unexpected that Gwyn couldn’t completely stop the raw noise in the back of his throat, even though his lips stayed pressed together.

‘Shhh,’ Augus said gently. ‘No one else should visit this afternoon. You’re doing fine.’

Gwyn took a shaky breath, and as Augus got back to work, it seemed as though the weight at the back of his neck didn’t feel quite as threatening as before.

It was some time later – most of the afternoon whiled away and Gwyn’s knees scratchy and thick with pain – that Gwyn risked leaning his head towards Augus’ thigh. He seemed to recall that he had reasons to be avoiding all of this, but all he wanted was to feel that hand upon his hair again, to feel some warmth against his face.

As soon as his cheek touched Augus’ thigh, Augus feathered his hand through Gwyn’s hair.

‘Da iawn,’ Augus murmured, so absently that Gwyn wasn’t even sure he’d noticed that slip into his native tongue. ‘Da iawn, Gwyn.’

_Very good._

Gwyn pressed even closer to Augus’ thigh and stole the moments of peace that were offered, the brief respite from the tumult in his mind.


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Augus pushes a little further, and gets some results, and shows aspects of his softer nature because he's good at doing that when Gwyn least expects it. :D 
> 
> I'll be updating again Friday, hopefully, and then the updates will probably get a bit more er, eccentric, as I'll be writing as I go. O.O

Augus hadn’t told Gwyn to meet him back in the study the following day, offering different instructions when he was done working. He’d unclipped the leash, unbuckled the collar, and Gwyn had felt bared and vulnerable and not gotten up to stand despite knowing it was over.

‘Tomorrow,’ Augus said. ‘My home. The lake. Be there three hours after the sun rises.’

So Gwyn now had teleported to the foyer of Augus’ home in its watery shroud – domed in a translucent green to keep the lake from touching and eroding the plastered place. He didn’t kneel – Augus hadn’t told him to kneel. Normally, he would just teleport inside. It was only rude to teleport inside someone’s home if you didn’t know the person, if you didn’t have a standing invitation.

Now he felt acutely like he’d felt the first time he’d done this. The first time he’d turned up on Augus’ doorstep so many years ago now, when he’d been covered in blood, broken and desperate, and convinced that the Each Uisge couldn’t help him. When he’d been sure that the only course for him was to end himself, and he envied those fae who were old enough that they could just _will death,_ while Gwyn had to hunt it down and it never yielded to him.

Augus opened his door twenty minutes later, beckoning Gwyn inside by crooking his finger. His hair was tied back once more, this time with black, velvety cord. Gwyn thought that he should get used to seeing Augus’ beauty every day, that he should come to take it for granted, but he never did. Still, he tried not to stare. He walked past and watched the floor instead.

Augus’ new lake home – in the lake of one of the past Each Uisge – was so like his first, and yet not, at the same time. Instead of tiles, he had wooden floorboards, lacquered to stop water damage. Instead of painted walls, there was a pale wallpaper. The furniture was a mix of those tasteful, matching items that Augus had found for himself, and then cushions and rugs and blankets that were bright, colourful, plush, and clearly Ash’s contribution.

It smelled of drying herbs, of distillations, hydrosols, essential oils, tinctures. Alongside keeping up Julvia’s treatments to make sure she stayed as hale as possible, he found peace in it, and Gwyn had tried to understand it by offering to help at times. It was complex work. A potion could be ruined if one watched it for four minutes and thirty seconds, instead of four minutes and twenty. Gwyn had learned that the hard way, and – expecting retribution from Augus – had only received a sigh and a gentle rolling of the eyes. Augus had said:

‘Yes, well, there’s only really one way to learn the importance of timing. You’ll do better next time.’

Augus led him into one of the two workshops he used for his herbal work. This one with the vaulted ceiling and an intricate mismatch of copper and bronze pipework designed to ventilate or provide humidity. Augus walked to one of the trestle tables and pointed down where he clearly expected Gwyn to kneel. Today, a folded blanket for Gwyn’s knees.

Gwyn frowned to see it. He bent down, picked it up, and tried to think of where to put it. He didn’t need concessions.

‘Put it back,’ Augus said. Gwyn could feel the way Augus was staring at him.

Gwyn made eye contact and shook his head a little, tried to indicate that he didn’t need it. Perhaps it would be better if he just said so, but Gwyn knew that this was – until Augus indicated otherwise – meant to go silently.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said patiently, ‘you can leave, or you can put it back and kneel.’

There were a couple of minutes where Gwyn tried to convince himself to just leave. After all, he wasn’t supposed to be bothering Augus in the first place, was he? But he caved to his own yearning and he quietly placed the blanket on the floor again, and then knelt, facing the entrance into the workshop.

Then the collar around his neck again – Augus must have already had it waiting on the table behind the piles of vegetation – and Gwyn let out a slow, controlled breath. Not the nice collar. The leather one.

‘You’re doing well,’ Augus said, when Gwyn didn’t pull away or struggle while he buckled the collar and slipped two fingers between leather and skin to check the fit. ‘You don’t take to this as easily as I thought you would. I know you are proud, but sometimes you are _much_ prouder than even I have a measure of. But I like you collared, and…’

The slide of leather off a wooden table as Augus grasped the leash. Then, it was attached to the collar and couldn’t help but try and jerk away.

‘…I like you leashed,’ Augus said, a smile in his voice. ‘I don’t know how anyone hasn’t done it before. You are, after all, a great beast of war, aren’t you? Did your parents not think of it? Of all the humiliating things they did to you?’

Gwyn turned to stare at Augus, shocked. But Augus only had that sweet smile on his face, and he sat down calmly, sliding the loop of leather from the other side of the leash onto his wrist.

‘I think they did,’ Augus said, eyes narrowing. ‘They kept hounds, after all. You’re telling me that between Efnisien, Crielle and Lludd, not one of them thought to do it?’

What was he supposed to say in response to that? But no words came. Of course they’d thought of it, but Gwyn was often able to keep those things his parents had done to him separate to anything Augus might do that was similar. Because his parents had never told him that he was doing well, that he was being very good. They’d never checked the fit of the collar the way Augus did. They’d never run their fingers through his hair.

So it was different.

‘Ah,’ Augus said, smile broadening. ‘I wonder which one it was? I can’t see Lludd being creative enough. As it stands, I’m not done.’

Augus picked up another strip of leather, this one shaped, and Gwyn knew automatically what it was for. Knew and balked, pushing up from his kneeling position and then getting three steps away from the desk before the leash jerked hard at the back of his neck and he coughed. The buckle should have snapped. Was it reinforced with magic? Gwyn’s fingers flew to the back of it, and Augus was already there, interfering, _stopping_ him.

Then, with a dexterity that spoke of how practiced Augus was with the action, the blindfold slid over his eyes anyway. Gwyn growled, and Augus hushed him, and then in seconds it was tied tightly behind his head, the knot pressing into his skin. Gwyn blinked rapidly, his eyelashes brushing against the back of the leather. He couldn’t see anything. Not anything at all. The leather was too shaped, the blindfold too broad. There wasn’t even a sliver of light.

Gwyn’s fingers came up and Augus caught them in his hands and squeezed.

‘Shhh,’ Augus said. ‘You don’t need to see to be able to kneel, you can let me look after that part, can’t you?’

Gwyn jerked his hands in Augus’ grip, trying to get them free, and Augus didn’t let go.

‘You _could_ fight me,’ Augus said speculatively, ‘but you’ll have to put some real effort into it, and you don’t want to do that, do you? I’m sure you haven’t slept for weeks on end. And this isn’t so terrifying is it?’

A hand at the back of Gwyn’s head, rubbing gently. Gwyn didn’t want it to feel soothing, didn’t want it to placate, but his fingers went limp anyway. He craved it, to be close to Augus like this.

‘There, see?’ Augus said, sliding his palm away from the back of Gwyn’s head. ‘Not terrifying. All right, you’re going to take four steps backwards with me, steady now.’

Augus led him back with a hand on the leash and his other hand at Gwyn’s waist. Gwyn took the steps with his teeth clenched, until he could feel the blanket beneath his feet.

‘Down, now,’ Augus said, knotting the leash up tight enough that Gwyn could only lower himself at the speed Augus wanted him to. ‘That’s it, Gwyn. There, see? It’s fine.’

Gwyn’s shoulders rose and fell in a huff of breath, and then he tensed when his head was pulled back, when Augus slid his fingers beneath Gwyn’s chin and pushed until Gwyn’s neck was taut. Before Gwyn could think to do anything at all, lips pressed against his. Gwyn could almost imagine it – Augus standing over him, bending down, and Gwyn bent and kneeling and leashed and vulnerable. It disarmed him, and Gwyn opened his mouth to a warm, approving murmur from Augus.

Augus’ lips moved over his possessively. It wasn’t painful, but Gwyn didn’t even try to take over, and he could feel the moment Augus knew he was in control and smiled. One of Augus’ hands was fisted at the back of Gwyn’s neck, the leash gripped tight, the other was at Gwyn’s jaw now, keeping his neck so stretched that Gwyn’s breath was strained.

After a couple of minutes, Augus withdrew, though not without caressing Gwyn’s bared throat first.

‘Do you know, I think Gulvi and Fenwrel quite enjoy running the workings of the palace together. Do you ever worry that Fenwrel is vying for position of Queen?’

‘Not particularly,’ Gwyn said, folding his hands into his lap and pursing his lips. ‘I think she enjoys the challenge of it, and I know she enjoys power, but…no, I don’t worry.’

‘No, me either,’ Augus said. ‘But that only makes me wonder if I should.’

‘Do you not trust her?’

‘Yes,’ Augus said, ‘implicitly, now. But you don’t.’

‘More than I used to,’ Gwyn said, shrugging the shoulder that didn’t hurt.

‘Look at you, talking like it’s easy,’ Augus said.

Gwyn stilled, and then realised that Augus had _tricked_ him. He wished he could _see._ He sighed in frustration, resisted the urge to fold his arms.

‘It’s like breaking a spell when I point it out, isn’t it?’ Augus said, laughing.

‘How can you be pretending to enjoy this?’ Gwyn said.

‘I’m not pretending,’ Augus said. ‘I like your company. Something you seem to have forgotten of late.’

Gwyn said nothing at all, and then he heard the sound of Augus moving around plants, and then some quick, competent chopping. An acrid scent filled the air, an intense lemon that would have burnt at his eyes if they weren’t covered.

‘It would be nice,’ Augus said, as though the fumes weren’t affecting him at all – but he was a waterhorse, so perhaps they didn’t, ‘if you didn’t lose sight of that, but naïve to assume it would work that way.’

Gwyn didn’t reply, now that Augus had pointed out how easily Gwyn had broken his silence, he couldn’t help but be aware of it – his voice, how awkward he felt, that he didn’t know what to say anymore.

‘People don’t recover from experiences like yours overnight,’ Augus said, and it sounded like his voice had changed now – as though he was looking down at what he was doing. ‘They don’t recover in a year or sometimes ten, sometimes never. And in the past I usually just left you to gallivant off to wherever you needed to, and then you returned, and things went back to…whatever passes for normalcy. But this time I think you needed an intervention.’

Gwyn reached his hands up to the blindfold, just to touch its outline, and he knew that Augus could see and was surprised when Augus didn’t tell him to put his hands back down again.

‘It’s not in your nature to lean on people,’ Augus observed, ‘and it doesn’t come quite naturally to you. Most people, when they’re hungry, search for food. If they’re cold, they look for warmth. They thirst, and so they know to look for water. Or blood. It all depends on what species you are, I suppose.’

Augus laughed under his breath, a soft, dark sound, and then he said:

‘But not you. Well, not always. You’re getting better at it, for the most part.’

Gwyn reached around to the back of the blindfold and touched his fingers to the tie. He waited to see what Augus would do.

Augus did nothing at all.

Gwyn didn’t untie it, but waited, feeling tense and uncertain.

Then, the sound of Augus putting a knife down and moving closer, and Gwyn knew that Augus would take his hands away. Would tell him ‘no.’

Instead, a faint gasp when Augus bent down behind him and pressed his lips to Gwyn’s knuckles. The kiss was so soft that Gwyn didn’t know what to do for a few seconds, and then he dropped his hands away. It was only then that Augus caught one of his wrists in a gentle but firm grip, drew his hand back up, kissed his knuckles again.

‘Leave it on,’ Augus said. ‘I’d like that. You look good, kneeling for me. And collared. And leashed. And blindfolded. The things you’ll put up with.’

‘Augus, I-’

Fingers on his lips, the softest of touches, and Gwyn fell silent.

‘Not yet,’ Augus said. ‘Not until you know what you want to say. Until then, I think it will just be excuses and denials from you. Unless you know what you want to say? If you nod your head, we can end all of this now.’

Gwyn almost did it, but felt like he was bewitched by Augus’ touch. He thought of how he shouldn’t be doing this. How he was supposed to leave, to make it easier on the both of them. Augus was supposed to be the one constantly tortured and hiding it, wasn’t he? That’s why Gwyn was doing this in the first place, to _save_ him.

So why did Augus sound so calm and warm? Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold. His lips pressed together. He couldn’t think of anything to say at all, and he held himself still and thought of all Augus had said.

‘I don’t want to end it all either,’ Augus said, like he was revealing a secret. The words held a terrible weight to them. ‘You can just spend the day here with me, and our competent Queen-in-Waiting and her not-quite-consort can deal with everything else. And then I’ll see you tomorrow. If you want.’

When Gwyn said nothing at all, Augus kissed the hand he was still holding and then let go gently, slowly, as though he didn’t want to stop touching Gwyn at all.

 


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so, like, with this chapter, I know it's ridiculous, I don't even care :D (Added tag: recreational drug use).

Gwyn found Ash lying down on the longest couch in his area of the palace. He lay upon his back and stared up at the ceiling, smoking what looked like a cigarette. After a particularly long drag, he held his breath for a long moment, and then blew out several smoke rings in quick succession.

‘I’m not…disturbing you?’ Gwyn said. He’d knocked, and Ash had told him to come in, but Ash hadn’t even looked to see who it was.

‘Nothing is disturbing me right now, buddy,’ Ash said, his voice scratchy with tiredness or relaxation, Gwyn couldn’t tell which.

‘Buddy,’ Gwyn said, staring at him.

‘Mm,’ Ash said, and Gwyn could see the grin from across the room. ‘Buddy ol’ pal. Don’t tell Augus. He gets mad. Like he didn’t use drugs in his own line of work. Dude can make a brew better than whatever this weak shit is.’

‘So…not tobacco,’ Gwyn said, walking over and perching on the edge of an armchair.

‘Less toxic than that and the booze. More relaxing. Y’know.’

‘You weren’t relaxed?’

‘Wasn’t I? Aren’t I always? Want some? It’s better shared.’

‘I…’ Gwyn stared at the lit end and thought what Augus would say about it if he knew. ‘I shouldn’t.’

‘Hmm,’ Ash said, and then started laughing behind closed lips. ‘God, you are so _whipped.’_

Gwyn almost opened his mouth to say ‘not recently,’ before he realised that Ash probably meant something else.

‘What about you?’ Ash said. ‘You relaxed? Things going better since that meltdown the other day?’

_Not…exactly._

Gwyn had spent the rest of the day in Augus’ house, sure that he could feel the touch of Augus’ lips on his knuckles more strongly than he could feel the pain in his knees. Absurd. Then, Augus had dismissed him, and there had been a time where they’d lingered. Where Gwyn had stood there and thought that Augus wanted him to stay, had momentarily been surprised to find himself in a position where he wouldn’t just _stay._

‘Have some,’ Ash said, holding his arm out. ‘Go on. Probably won’t affect you anyway, given you’re built like a brick shithouse and all that.’

Gwyn took the hand-rolled cigarette carefully and sniffed it. The scent wasn’t alien to him, but he couldn’t recall where he’d smelled it before. The human world, perhaps? He wasn’t exactly a stranger to smoking, having to engage in it sometimes when working with fae of other species – especially when trying to aim towards peace-treaties – but this seemed different.

He took a shallow drag, held the smoke in his lungs as Ash had done before, and then just as his eyes and the back of his nostrils began to sting, he blew it out carefully. Only then he realised that Ash was watching him sharply.

‘Figures,’ Ash said, gesturing for Gwyn to keep the joint. ‘You didn’t even cough.’

‘Should I?’

‘A lot of newbies do,’ Ash said. ‘You done this before?’

‘Not _this,’_ Gwyn said, looking down at the glowing tip. ‘But my work for the Seelie took me all over. This is quite aromatic. What is it?’

‘I forget sometimes how much you just don’t do anything at all in the human world,’ Ash said, as Gwyn took a longer toke and held the burning smoke for longer, before letting it out through his nostrils carefully. Ash gestured for it, and Gwyn handed it back, before settling into the armchair properly.

‘So it’s a human thing,’ Gwyn said, his voice deeper than before, the smoke warming his throat.

‘It took right off there,’ Ash said. ‘It’s pot, by the way. Augus could tell you all the scientific designations but whatever. I suppose the fae have their own things too. Magical booze, fungi, and y’know, just… _magic._ But this? I doubt this’ll touch you. I’ve seen how much alcohol you need in your system before it even begins to have an effect. _’_

‘Or Gulvi’s kvass,’ Gwyn said. ‘Not so much of that.’

‘Yeah,’ Ash said, laughing, ‘that stuff’s _lethal._ It’d put hairs on the hairs on your chest.’

‘I don’t have any of those to worry about anyway,’ Gwyn said, leaning back in the chair and looking around Ash’s open entertaining space. There were rather more bookshelves along the walls than he’d been expecting when he’d created it years ago.

‘You wax?’ Ash said, and Gwyn squinted at him.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Y’know, you wax the hair off?’

Gwyn blinked, and then realised that sometimes the things he thought everyone knew, were just the things that Augus and a few others knew.

‘No,’ Gwyn said, looking down at his forearms and his wrists. ‘I don’t grow it. I just…never started.’

‘Wait,’ Ash said, turning quickly, like Gwyn had revealed something very important. ‘So you’ve never needed to _shave?_ Like your face?’

Ash touched his own cheek in the process and then his eyebrows lifted like he couldn’t quite believe it. Gwyn didn’t know how. It’s not like he’d ever had it to begin with. Augus didn’t shave either, so it wasn’t _that_ strange.

‘That’s amazing,’ Ash said, looking back up at the ceiling again. ‘I had no idea. That’s not a common fae thing, so what’s the deal with that?’

‘The light I make,’ Gwyn said, spreading his hands and staring at them. ‘Aleutia thinks it burns the hair follicles or damages them somehow.’

‘But you grow it on your eyebrows, and the top of your head, and like…you have eyelashes.’

‘Yes, well, I never said I _understood_ it,’ Gwyn said, frowning. ‘I…didn’t come here for this.’

‘Oh, yeah, right, I remember. King Gwyn only ever comes here to remind himself that other people hate him too, and then storms off in a Kingly huff when he doesn’t get what he wants. Y’know, I have another joint around here. Actually I have like a million. Hang on. You need more.’

Ash rolled off the couch in a move that looked clumsy, except he lurched to his feet like it was some kind of planned move. He sauntered off towards a chest of drawers and didn’t look back at Gwyn once as he went. He kept the joint between index and forefinger, and seemed to forget it was there.

‘I don’t do that,’ Gwyn said.

‘Not _always,’_ Ash said, while looking through a drawer. ‘I mean, sometimes you come to ask me my recommendations on wine for like…a delegation.’

‘That’s not _all_ I do!’ Gwyn said. ‘I come here and- I’ve invited you to walk Grip with me.’

‘He walks us,’ Ash muttered. ‘Ah, look, here’s the good stuff. Rolled already. Thank you, Past Ash, for thinking ahead to this moment.’

Ash walked back, lighting the tip of one joint with the burning end of the one he held. Then he lit another. He passed the larger one to Gwyn, who took it and turned it in his fingers before shrugging. His life was strange enough lately, this wasn’t any stranger.

‘You said you were smoking this to relax,’ Gwyn said. ‘Are you stressed?’

‘Me?’ Ash said, lying so that he could rest his feet on the wall and his head almost hung off the couch. ‘Nah, why would I be stressed? I mean, things are getting better from almost complete catastrophe a few years ago, but I’m _still_ seeing a shrink, and playing PR for this nightmare is like a far cry from how my life used to be. But I’m not stressed. Everything’s cool. I’m like a ball on its side.’

‘A ball on its side,’ Gwyn said, staring at him.

‘Yeah, y’know? Always the same, no matter what side it’s on.’

Gwyn kept looking at him, and Ash stared back, upside down. Then he snorted.

‘God, you’re so like him sometimes it’s weird. I can’t tell if you were always like that, or if you got it from him.’

‘How am I being?’

‘Judge-y,’ Ash said. ‘Y’know, looking at me like I don’t make sense. Or like, I’ve said something that’s just…I don’t know, not quite _fae_ enough. Like, how dare I go into the human world and come back with colloquialisms and shit. Like he doesn’t swear or speak a fuckton of different languages when he feels like it. But no, because it’s _human,_ it has to be bad.’

‘I wasn’t looking at you like that,’ Gwyn said. ‘It’s concerning. Does Augus know how stressed you are?’

 _‘No,’_ Ash said, part outrage and part amused drawl. ‘Because that would stress _him_ out. Guess how much I love doing that?’

‘Going by every story he tells about you, a great deal, actually,’ Gwyn said.

‘Ha,’ Ash said. ‘So funny. You think you’re so funny. You come across like you’re all stoic and reserved but you’re a little comic deep down, aren’t you? Like, a _scathing_ one, but- Fuck, I’m hungry. Anyway, no, don’t tell him. I’m not like super stressed. I can always go to Gulvi if I need to.’

‘Can you?’ Gwyn said.

The scowl Ash gave him was intense enough that Gwyn tried to mask what he’d just said by focusing on smoking instead. By the time he was done, Ash was just watching him quietly, the irritated lines around his eyes having disappeared.

‘Yeah,’ Ash said, ‘I still can. I just don’t as much. Feels weird, whining about stuff that you guys are all used to.’

‘Used to,’ Gwyn said, contemplating the burning end of the joint before taking another slow drag. His knees were hurting less now, that was pleasant. ‘You don’t get used to it.’

‘Yeah sure,’ Ash said. ‘Augus said-’

‘You don’t,’ Gwyn said, looking up at meeting Ash’s gaze. ‘You don’t get used to it. I hope you never do. This is not the kind of life anyone should get used to. And you? They’re all aware of it you know. All those fae who knew the life you used to lead. They think you’re sacrificing yourself, that you are giving of your greatness for…for the Unseelie Court, for your brother. And you are. You don’t think that’s stressful?’

‘Okay,’ Ash said, sitting up, ‘give me the joint. That’s enough. I can get pop psychology from just about any TV drama I tune into. Give me the joint.’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, frowning at him. ‘The joint’s not doing anything. Get _off._ ’

He shoved Ash away, and Ash held his hands up in surrender, then sank back onto his couch.

‘It changes you,’ Gwyn said, looking away. ‘Giving of yourself, for a Court. It doesn’t matter what it is. Gulvi sacrificing a part of her chaotic nature to have things run in an orderly manner. Augus just having to be in this place, regardless of how it’s been changed. And I…’

Gwyn absently raised the joint to his lips.

‘And you…what?’ Ash said.

‘I was raised to it,’ Gwyn said finally, on a rush of smoke. ‘I had nothing to sacrifice.’

‘Huh,’ Ash said, pushing himself back on the couch and folding his legs. ‘Okay. Sounds like bullshit, but okay. And you weren’t raised to it. Augus said they never wanted you to be King.’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, annoyed, ‘they didn’t raise me to _that._ They raised me to be a soldier. For the Court. I was raised for _that._ Is everyone in a mood to bring up my blasted family, lately? Did you all have a secret meeting where you signed some kind of mandate to do so? I don’t need to keep hearing about my family. I don’t need to go home. I don’t miss my mother. They didn’t want me to be King. _’_

Gwyn’s teeth clicked together and then he stared at the joint and blinked at it.

‘I think you should take this,’ Gwyn said, handing it out towards Ash without looking at him.

‘Nah, man, I’m pretty sure you _need_ that,’ Ash said. ‘Come on, that’s not the pot doing that. That’s just you being pissed off. And nope, no secret meetings. People have been worried, but like, normal worried, not ‘holding secret meetings about it’ worried. You seem a bit more…I dunno, less prone to just running away and teleporting you goddamn _cheat_ – don’t think I haven’t forgotten that you did that to me – and more prone to just kind of being upset about stuff anyone would be upset about.’

‘Is that so?’ Gwyn said.

‘Yeah,’ Ash said, laughing weakly. ‘Dude, _I’m_ upset about your family. And _I’m_ upset we’re all stuck in this fucking castle. I hate that Augus is pouring himself into this and I hate that I am and I hate that you are. And if _I’m_ upset, then I don’t even know what kind of upset you could be. The difference between you and me, Gwyn, is that I know I have a right to be pissed, and upset, and annoyed, and stressed out – even if I pretend I’m not. So I lie up here, and I toke up, and I mellow out and I let myself. You? You just get madder at yourself. Madder and madder. You don’t know you have a right to it.’

Through all of Ash’s talking, Gwyn had distracted himself by smoking the joint until it was almost burned down. At that point he was reluctantly willing to concede that maybe whatever the herb was, had a stronger effect on him than alcohol did. He remembered once that Augus had said Gwyn was unusually sensitive to some drugs. His limbs were feeling looser. His thoughts had slowed down.

He looked up at Ash and then sank deeper into the arm chair, and then finally crossed his legs, so that his ankle rested upon his knee.

‘I do sometimes,’ Gwyn said. ‘Know those things. But not so much, of late.’

‘Mm, yeah, well you know, as my shrink said, healing’s not a straight line and blah blah blah.’

Gwyn grasped the blanket that was folded on the armrest and then shook it open, before stuffing it alongside him, like a cushion. It was warm and soft, and he kept the palm of his hand on it. Ash was watching him, but he seemed unbothered.

Just before the joint burned itself out, Ash handed him the other one and gestured for him to light it with the tip of the one nearly finished. Gwyn did so, and wondered why Augus would ever be mad about _this._ But then, Augus was fastidious, and Gwyn thought, a tad controlling.

‘Is it that you don’t trust us?’ Ash said.

‘No, not entirely.’ Gwyn closed his eyes and thought that it had been a long day, and a long month, and there was a warmth in his chest at the idea that he could just go and see Augus tomorrow and kneel by his side, even if it meant wearing that collar and that leash. ‘I just think you all deserve better.’

‘Better than what?’

‘Better than someone who is a murderer, rapist and mercenary maker of war. Honestly, Ash, it’s not hard. One doesn’t exactly need to _search_ to figure these things out.’

‘Yeah,’ Ash said, his eyes closing. ‘And I’m a murderer, and a hunter of innocent humans. Augus killed a bunch of innocent fae _and_ humans, I mean his line is that he won’t eat children, but he really _likes_ hunting down the innocent, sweet, pretty ones outside of that. Like, a lot. And from what he’s said, you guys have this really weird area which is like…rape for some and just – oh, fuck, I don’t fucking know, I don’t want to think about what you two do. But I know he’s a part of it. And Gulvi’s like…a really blood-thirsty mercenary, literally like – _that’s her job,_ or at least it was before she became Queen in Waiting. So…like…okay?’

Ash yawned, rolled over onto his stomach and folded his arms beneath his chest, turning his head to the side to look at Gwyn.

‘Maybe you deserve better than all of us,’ Ash said.

Gwyn snorted, and Ash shrugged his shoulders.

‘That’s just stupid,’ Gwyn said.

‘I’m high,’ Ash said, smiling. ‘So are you, by the way. I think you’re not gonna like that you’re talking this openly, when you think about it later.’

‘I don’t think it matters.’

‘Yeah, just…y’know, you _might_ later. When you care a bit more.’

‘So I’m high,’ Gwyn said, staring down at the joint.

‘You seem more relaxed,’ Ash said. ‘I mean you unfolded a blanket. You’ve never done that before. Even though I have like fifty in here. And you’re, I dunno, _lounging.’_

Gwyn started to sit up straight, just to prove that he could, and then decided that it wasn’t worth the sheer amount of effort it would involve. He slumped back. After a bit, he raised his index finger in acknowledgement.

‘I love him so much,’ Gwyn said a few minutes later.

‘Yeah, buddy, I know. We all know that,’ Ash said, his forehead resting on his forearm now.

‘I would do anything to make him happier. Even if it was…leave.’

‘So this is like the dry run? Just checking to see how miserable it would make you? Waiting to see how happy it makes him?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said. ‘Except I don’t have the fortitude to stick it out. I want him so much. And beneath that, I just think there’s all this _weakness._ If I was strong, I would… And I can’t.’

‘Yeah. Well, I’m glad about that. I’m not gonna say what I think about all that shit you just said about strength and weakness, but… I’m glad you can’t stick it out. So is he.’

‘He doesn’t know what he wants,’ Gwyn said morosely, and then made a faint grumbling noise in the back of his throat. As though in response, his stomach rumbled, and he wondered if it was worth going down to the kitchens to pilfer some food. Ash turned his head, looked, must have heard the sound too.

‘Oh, yeah, tell _him_ that. That’s like his favourite thing in the world. He loves it when other people try and tell him what he wants.’

‘Well that’s why I’m not _telling_ him,’ Gwyn said, scowling at Ash.

‘He figured it out. Dude, he figured it out a while back. He knows what you’re doing. He knows why you’re doing it. He knows your real strength is in not being _quite_ as destructive as you think you should be. It’s great. He’s got you all worked out.’

Gwyn made a face of outrage at Ash, and Ash laughed, the sound bright and not at all mean. Gwyn flushed, wasn’t quite sure why Ash was laughing, and distracted himself with the heat of the smoke. Between that and the blanket, he was beginning to feel cosy. If only he wasn’t getting so peckish.

‘Do you have anything to eat?’ Gwyn said.

‘I’m gonna remember this,’ Ash said, rolling up into a sitting position. ‘I’m going to remember that you can actually get high. This is amazing. Who knew? I’m gonna tell Augus.’

‘Don’t tell him, you said he’d be mad,’ Gwyn said.

‘Eh, buddy, I’m not so sure this time,’ Ash said, winking at him. ‘Now let me go find something for us to snack on. I brought a ton of shit up here from the human world, and you’re gonna like at least half of it, trust me. It’s pretty much all salt and sugar and fat.’

Gwyn’s stomach growled again, and he patted it, leaning his head back against the armchair.

‘I think I’m going to like all of it,’ Gwyn said.

‘Cool cool. By the way, for future reference? This is called the munchies.’

‘Is this one of those times where you tell me things from the human world that aren’t actually real and then I believe you and then you laugh about it afterwards because I’m gullible?’

‘Nope,’ Ash said, ‘this is one of those times where I’m actually having fun and like, sharing stuff with you and we’re, I dunno, growing into better versions of ourselves. There, is that pop psychology enough for you? It is for me.’

‘Okay then,’ Gwyn said, wishing that his legs would fit on the couch and he could fold himself up into a blanketed ball. But outside of that, he was feeling remarkably settled with the world, and glad that he’d decided to stop by Ash’s rooms.


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fluff sort of continues, and then things get a bit more serious. I suspect we may be looking at a ratings list to Explicit at some point in the next two or three chapters. We'll see. I keep forgetting that Augus is _Augus_.

Gwyn couldn’t have predicted that he’d end up falling asleep in Ash’s armchair, especially once Ash pulled out the lever for him and put it in full recline. One moment he was saying he was just going to doze, and the next, he was surfacing from the dregs of a nightmare he couldn’t quite recall, covered in blankets that smelled like Ash and Augus and Gulvi, and feeling a bit muzzy-headed. He rubbed at his forehead, turned over, knew he wasn’t in a bed.

His nostrils flared when he realised it was the first sleep cycle he’d let himself have for over a month. He hadn’t even willed it. He made a low rumbling sound – a mixture of being comfortable and knowing he’d have to get up soon enough, have to move his shoulder which would no doubt shriek loudly at him in response.

‘Good morning.’

Gwyn rubbed at his eyes and then shifted to see Augus sitting on the couch that Ash had last occupied.

_Oh no. I was supposed to be there kneeling the day after. Have I ruined it?_

But Augus was smiling in that careful, gentle way he did sometimes.

Augus lifted a finger.

‘Before you ask, it’s been three full days. Ash told me, so no, I was not left waiting for you – but even if you hadn’t shown up, it would have been all right, Gwyn. I’ve been pleasantly surprised that you’ve been turning up so often. No, you missed nothing catastrophic, except for a small skirmish that Ifir all but jumped to deal with, not having to answer to your leadership. Ash said you might feel groggy and so I’ve made a tonic for you, but if you can’t stand anything bitter, there’s water too.’

‘Oh,’ Gwyn said, testing his joints as he moved in the chair. He winced at his shoulder, but it was no worse than it had been in the past. He looked down at the blankets covering him, counted at least four, and his brow furrowed.

‘Yes,’ Augus said, ‘well, Ash is prone to this most awful overzealous care.’

Gwyn felt something lukewarm and strangely shaped at his flank and reached for it, pulling out a hot water bottle covered in a fabric printed with tiny seals.

‘Gods,’ Gwyn said, ‘this is horrifying.’

‘It’s a very _particular_ form of torture,’ Augus agreed. ‘You’re lucky there’s no stuffed animal toys.’

Gwyn stared at him, and Augus shrugged.

‘I’m serious,’ Augus said. ‘You’re lucky.’

Gwyn made a sound that was more ‘mmph’ than it was any particular word, and then pulled the blankets closer to himself and thought that if someone could convalesce from emotions, then he was very close to doing it. Humiliating as it was.

‘Normally,’ Augus said, ‘this would be when I would be relieved that everything is back to normal, and this would be when you go back to an enormous workload and escaping to the cabin or my home or our bed whenever you can. But I’m not relieved. And everything isn’t back to normal.’

‘No,’ Gwyn said.

‘It’s fortunate I enjoy the sound of my voice so much, given how little you give me to work with, sometimes. Honestly, Gwyn, _conversation.’_

Gwyn was very tempted to say ‘no’ again, but instead, he said nothing at all. Augus’ gaze turned glittery for a few seconds, as though he wanted to argue, and then his forehead smoothed and he just shook his head, a wry smile curving across his lips.

‘See how you illustrate my point?’ Augus said.

Gwyn rolled his eyes. Goodness, had he just been sleeping in Ash’s lounge for days? Why hadn’t Ash woken him? Surely that would have disturbed Ash’s…whatever he did?

‘Where’s Ash?’ Gwyn said.

‘Fucking people in the human world, I expect. Or hunting them. He was going to stay but he’s been due a hunt. I believe the last thing he left was the hot water bottle. Be grateful. If he’d stayed longer, I’m certain it would have been soft toys. How he’s the _Glashtyn,_ I’ll never quite understand. But I’ve heard the same said about myself.’

Augus leaned back in the chair casually, but Gwyn knew the subject troubled him still.

‘Are you hale?’ Gwyn said.

‘I miss you,’ Augus said. ‘Otherwise, everything’s progressing about as well as it always does.’

It was almost on the tip of Gwyn’s tongue to ask ‘what do you miss?’ but he pressed his lips together instead. He licked at the dryness inside of his mouth, looked around, and found two glass bottles next to him. One the clear green-yellow of a tonic, the other water. Gwyn reached for the tonic and sipped at it. The bitterness wasn’t too bad, and it had the benefit of clearing the cobwebs from his mind.

‘What did he give me?’ Gwyn said. ‘He called it pot, but I’m sure that’s not-’

_‘Cannabis,’_ Augus said. He didn’t seem at all angry. Gwyn kept sipping at the tonic. That he’d lost so much awareness of himself to the point where he’d slept in Ash’s room was worrisome. ‘Would you use it again?’

‘I don’t know,’ Gwyn said. ‘Perhaps. Do I have to decide now?’

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘Look, I said your favourite word.’

Gwyn smirked, and thought perhaps they should both leave.

‘It’s not my favourite word,’ Gwyn said.

Augus lifted his eyebrows, and Gwyn felt himself flush before he even spoke.

‘You should know what my favourite word is, by now,’ Gwyn said.

A beat, and then Augus laughed softly. If Augus was the kind of person to redden, Gwyn thought he might have been doing it now. Instead, Augus didn’t do any of the things that Gwyn would have done, he didn’t look askance, he didn’t duck his head. His eyes glowed with warmth and he maintained eye contact, pleased.

‘You might try saying that then,’ Augus said.

Gwyn sat up carefully, using his legs to get the chair out of its reclining position. He peeled back four blankets, finished the last of the herbal tonic and placed the bottle carefully down. His head was feeling remarkably clear, and though he didn’t have the measure of confidence he’d found in the months and years prior, he found a shred of it and said:

‘Augus.’

Augus’ smile brightened for all of a second before his expression turned troubled. He rested his hands on his knees and never looked away from Gwyn.

‘Fenwrel has said I should share this with you. Do you know, I have this…concern, that I might wake up one morning in this cursed place, or even in my own home, and I will go to find you, to wish you a good morning, and you will be gone. Vanished. Not to one of your usual jaunts, not travelling or hunting or at war. Just…gone.’

‘I wouldn’t-’

‘-That you would become certain of a course of action – which you are prone to – and like the blasted fool you are, you’d find a way to disappear from my life forever. And you would think you were doing me a service.’

Gwyn’s mouth closed, and he looked aside. He couldn’t say anything then. He’d thought of it himself.

‘We’ve exchanged too many blood-oaths between us, you and I,’ Augus said. ‘And if it weren’t for that, I would have made you oath it to me by now – that you would never leave like that without coming to me first and telling me. Except that I can’t trust you not to _use_ that to destroy yourself.’

‘Well,’ Gwyn said, uncertain what he should say.

‘It frightens me.’

‘I don’t want to frighten you,’ Gwyn said, leaning forwards. ‘That’s exactly-’

‘Not _you,’_ Augus said dismissively. ‘ _You_ are just…’ Augus gestured his hand at him without finishing the sentence. ‘The hold your past has on you, _that_ frightens me. You – great, lumbering oaf that you are – don’t scare me. But that you could wake up one day and feel those voices in your head are louder than all the ones around you, make a decision, leave, and- I know you enough to know that is something you are more than capable of.’

_But I am so weak._ Gwyn thought of how the past few weeks had gone. Kneeling at Augus’ side. Accepting the collar, and then the leash, even the blindfold. Letting himself sleep in Ash’s room. A sleepy memory of giving up all the pain he carried for just a moment of succour.

‘I am less likely to do what you fear,’ Gwyn said, ‘than I was before… before all of this. The palace, meeting you, even…some of the others.’

‘I know that,’ Augus said.

‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’

‘I don’t want you to say what you think I want to hear,’ Augus said, eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t want you giving me false assurances and platitudes. I can see through them.’

‘Then what-’

‘I think I want you to kneel for me again,’ Augus said, ‘ _quietly.’_

‘That solves _nothing,’_ Gwyn said.

‘Ah, then tell me the solution you have. Please. I’m all ears, as the saying goes.’ Augus spread his hands, then spread his fingers. ‘Nothing to say? Then you’ll kneel for me.’

‘Here?’ Gwyn said, faintly mocking. ‘For Ash?’

‘Scar him for life, more like,’ Augus said, laughing. ‘A lifetime of having to hear the most intimate, inappropriate details of all of his sundry adventures, and now I think he’s realised just how strange it can be. So no, not here.’

Augus extended a hand.

‘Come along,’ he said, imperious. ‘You’re not a King today either. You’re my beast, and I may do with you what I like.’

Gwyn stared at Augus’ hand mutinously, and then folded his arms. Augus grinned his toothy, predatory grin.

‘I think you’ll walk on a leash today,’ Augus said evenly.

‘Do you?’ Gwyn said, and though his voice was hard, he felt something quake within. A flickering. As though he could already feel the tiles of the castle beneath his hands and knees. As though he could feel the collar and the leash tugging, and Augus pulling him where he wanted.

Then, without any further prompting from Augus, he unfolded his arms, and slid his fingers into Augus’ palm.

He thought Augus would say something smug or witty. Some sentence to bask in knowing he was right. Instead, Augus only covered the back of Gwyn’s hand with his other hand, and met his gaze.

‘ _Gramercie,’_ Augus said. ‘The things you’ll let me do to you.’

Gwyn curled his fingers tightly around Augus’ hand, and let out a quiet exhale of relief when Augus squeezed back. As Augus led him from Ash’s room, Gwyn wondered why Augus was offering thanks, why he did it in _that_ way. But chances were, even if Augus explained himself, Gwyn wouldn’t know how to hear the words he said without thinking of ways to refute them, so perhaps it was best that Augus wasn’t often in the habit of explaining himself.


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which things start to get a bit more... Augus-y, lol. Or, in which it's always good to have a back up leash, just in case.

They were back in their shared office after Augus insisted that they eat breakfast, even though it was the afternoon. Kneeling by Augus’ side hadn’t been a problem, nor had accepting the collar, or even the leash. But when Augus stood twenty minutes later and took the leash up in his hand, Gwyn could feel a rebelliousness stirring. The idea of crawling on a leash might have been exhilarating to a part of him, but the rest of him knew it to be the demeaning act that it was. Especially with that gleam in Augus’ eyes.

‘Tch,’ Augus jerked the leash a few times on a loose wrist, so that it kept clinking and moving against the buckle on the collar. Gwyn’s teeth clenched together, and Augus smiled. ‘This is why I’m generally against dogs. So recalcitrant.’

Gwyn glared at him, and Augus lifted his brows and jerked the leash a few more times.

‘Well?’ Augus said crisply. ‘Has no one ever trained you? Do you not understand a collar and a leash?’

This, also, had been something that Augus had once talked of doing. Augus asking what kind of ‘dog’ Gwyn might be had him thinking. Was he a tamed dog that understood orders? Or was he untamed? His heartsong was wildness after all.

As the jerks on the leash became more irritating, Augus sending waves down the leather that snapped at the buckle, Gwyn made a decision. His head whipped around and he bit down hard on the leather of the leash and yanked it out of Augus’ hand.

The light in Augus’ eyes seemed to dance then, as Gwyn just stared at him and bared his teeth, feeling foolish and strangely playful.

‘Really,’ Augus said, stepping towards him. ‘If you wanted to be gagged, you only needed to say.’

Gwyn tried to spit out the leash – knowing what Augus planned – but Augus grabbed it and looped it around his head, pulling it tighter between his teeth as Gwyn tried shaking his head to dislodge it. Too quickly, the leash was looped three times between his teeth, chafing at the corners of his lips, and Augus did something with the handle that fixed it tightly to the back of his collar.

A long, deep growl, and Augus ruffled his hair and grinned at him. It seemed he was in a similar feral mood to Gwyn.

‘This is why it’s best to be prepared,’ Augus said, opening a drawer and bringing out a second leash. Gwyn started to get up onto his feet, and then changed his mind and swung away on all fours, trying to move the buckle of the collar out of Augus’ reach. ‘Oh no, it doesn’t work that way I’m afraid.’

The click of metal as the leash was fixed into place, and Gwyn growled again, trying to jerk the leash out of Augus’ grip. But Augus held it fast, and the leash didn’t break despite the force Gwyn exerted. A regular leather leash would have snapped.

‘Try growling again,’ Augus teased, ‘that seems to be _very_ effective.’

Gwyn bit down into the leather, his saliva already soaking into the soft underside. He braced both hands hard on the tiles, and even though his ruined shoulder blasted pain at him, he jerked his whole body backwards so hard that Augus stumbled forwards and went down to one knee.

The look of shock on Augus’ face was something Gwyn would savour for months to come – it wasn’t often he got something approaching the upper hand in anything like a scene. He moved forward and muscled into him, and then while knocking him back, shifted so he could pin Augus with a fist at his sternum.

Augus’ eyes were wide. For a few seconds they stared at each other. Then, to make his point, Gwyn growled through the gag.

Augus laughed, drummed his blunt claws on the ground.

‘Useless. I ask for a trained hound, and they give me _this.’_

Augus looked over Gwyn’s face, his body, then down to the arm bracketing him in and the hand resting on his chest. After a moment he smiled and met Gwyn’s eyes again.

‘ _Such_ a shame,’ he said, ‘that they gave me an _injured_ hound.’

Gwyn was already rearing backwards and trying to get his shoulder out of the way, when Augus arched and shoved knuckles into it. Gwyn was better at riding those bursts of pain than he used to be, but there was still a second where his vision went white, where his lips stretched around the makeshift gag on the force of his gasp.

A struggle, Gwyn aware that he’d lost the upper hand, because he would never fight as dirty as Augus did. Not with Augus, anyway.

Augus laughed, pinned him, kept the heel of his palm in Gwyn’s shoulder and then blew out a heavy exhale.

‘I’ve been wanting to do this for _weeks.’_

Gwyn was in the process of trying to work out what that was, when the nerves in his shoulder screeched as Augus seemed to dig his fingers into all the worst places at once. He sucked in a cold breath, went still, tense, waited. His body seemed to have learned that relief would follow, but there was always the point where he was hanging between the regular pain he experienced in the day to day and the absence of pain, where it was a hot, bright, electric point in his body – skittering up and down his spine, lancing into the back of his head.

Then, a shift, the pain numbing, and Gwyn went so limp that he grunted weakly as Augus’ knees dug deeper into what were previously tense muscles.

‘Good,’ Augus crooned. ‘So good. Maybe we can make some progress now, hm?’

Augus rubbed his upper arm, avoiding the knotted scar tissue. Then, he reached up and smoothed locks of hair away from Gwyn’s head, where they’d fallen.

‘Look, no one’s groomed you either. What are you? Some stray they took in and then sold to me? What a fool they must have thought I was, I paid good money for a guardian hound, and the first thing you do is turn on your owner.’

Gwyn blinked his eyes open and looked up, thought about the story that was being woven. He swallowed clumsily as saliva dripped down the back of his throat. It felt messy, but Augus’ eyes showed only hunger, his appreciation for the debauched.

Fingers turned Gwyn’s curls. Tugged them forward and examined them. Augus made critical ‘tch-ing’ sounds, and Gwyn stayed still, waited to see where this was going. So much more than being asked to kneel at Augus’ side, silently. This was a story, and Augus didn’t do this very often. So often they were just themselves – King and consort, common fae and waterhorse, Unseelie and Unseelie.

‘So, have you settled?’ Augus said, arching a brow at Gwyn before touching the loops of leather where they rested on Gwyn’s cheek. ‘Or is this just what a hound like you does when their belly is exposed? Are you going to walk for me now?’

Augus eased off Gwyn carefully, the second leash still at his wrist. He pulled gently, and Gwyn rolled to his side and then onto all fours, staring down at the tiles.

‘Maybe…’ Augus said, as though to himself, ‘…Maybe you can behave, after all, if you’ve a mind to. Perhaps they thought they sold me a scroungy, second-rate mutt, and perhaps you were more than even they saw.’

Gwyn looked up then, a flash of anger inside of him, because that wasn’t even _subtle._ Augus stared back and then flicked the fingers of his free hand into a shrug.

‘I did say _maybe,’_ Augus said, a corner of his lips turning up.

Augus stepped towards him, and then slid his fingers into Gwyn’s hair. What started off as a soothing caress turned into pinpricks of pain through Gwyn’s scalp. Augus’ hand tightening, drawing him up into a kneeling position while Gwyn grunted at the force of it. Augus kept pulling until Gwyn had to look up at him, and only then did Augus bend his knees and look at him closely.

Claws scraped down his cheeks, gripped the leash looped around Gwyn’s head.

‘Poor thing,’ Augus said, staring at him, looking far more like a predator now than he had at almost any other point so far. ‘You know why I have to go vendors like that, don’t you? The unsavoury ones that will rip someone off in a heartbeat? It’s because I have a bit of a reputation myself. A tad too _perverse_ for all those purveyors of the finest hounds. I break too many of my animals, you see. I think the ones that fight me are my favourites.’

Augus’ voice had gone from that everyday lilt to something far darker, and Gwyn gulped, his teeth squelching into leather. He wasn’t afraid, exactly, but his heart raced, his blood quickened.

‘I think you can understand some of what I’m saying,’ Augus said, his smile cruel, ‘so it’s really up to you, isn’t it? You can keep fighting me, and I’ll have some fun, or you can heed me, and – well – what a novelty _that_ might be.’

Augus’ fingers dug harder into Gwyn’s cheeks, a bruising pain, and Gwyn tried to shake his head free, but couldn’t. Augus’ smile widened.

‘I’ve missed this too,’ Augus said. Then, after a beat, he added: ‘The last one fought admirably. Ultimately, it didn’t do him any favours either.’

Even though this was all different from what Gwyn was accustomed to, it was so deeply familiar too. The faint hints of pain promising potentially more to come. Knowing Augus was so sated by it, yet seemed to be as content with offering comfort if Gwyn only accepted it.

So Gwyn closed his eyes and pushed his head up hesitantly into Augus’ hand. In a single, fluid movement, the rough grip in his hair became fingers caressing the sore places, and Augus hushing him.

‘There, see?’ Augus said, his voice still sinister, but warm too. ‘Not so much beyond hope at all, are you? Now, let’s see what these dealers gave me to work with.’

Gwyn still hadn’t decided whether he’d fight and seek the breaking, or if he’d stay with this soft, gentle touch. It wasn’t until a few seconds later, leaning his head into Augus’ hand as it stroked behind his ear, that Gwyn realised he’d long forgotten about escaping the castle, even Augus. He felt ashamed, momentarily, that he was so far from what his goal had initially been. But then he took a deep breath and sighed it out through his nose.

He didn’t want to think about all of those things. He didn’t want to do anything except be there. Sometimes the weight of it all was so heavy – he didn’t want to hand it to Augus, he just wanted it to drop away, and never feel it upon his back ever again.

So he leaned into Augus’ hand, and let himself be petted. Augus said nothing for long moments, as though he somehow understood everything that was going on and knew to make space for it to happen. Whatever it was, Gwyn felt it as a moment of peace between them, and was relieved that he couldn’t talk, and wasn’t expected to.


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is like temporarily retitled 'Waterhorses Have Feelings Too.'

Gwyn and Augus were in their shared bedroom. The one Gwyn hadn’t slept in – hadn’t even walked within – for several weeks now. Augus had asked him while he’d stroked his hair, and Gwyn had teleported them both and hardly thought about it. But now that he was here, the setting jarred. It felt like he’d entered somewhere he wasn’t allowed to be. As though he was trespassing.

As he looked around warily, Augus jerked on the leash that wasn’t wrapped around his mouth, and Gwyn startled and looked back.

‘I know you probably think this isn’t quite the setting to tame anything at all, let alone a hound like you, but I make do,’ Augus said speculatively. Though his tone was moderate, there was a carefulness in his own eyes, a quality to the way he studied Gwyn, as though he were a complicated page in a book.

‘All right,’ Augus said quietly, and then he snapped the leash with enough force that Gwyn felt the back of his neck sting. Whatever wariness he had disappeared in a rush of annoyance, and Augus shook his head at him, rolled his eyes. ‘Come on now, _walk.’_

The compulsion – Gwyn hadn’t heard them directed at himself for so long now – washed over him smoothly, and Gwyn stared back, and then raised his eyebrows as if to say:

_Honestly, what did you expect would happen?_

Augus touched two fingers to his chin, his brow furrowed.

‘It can’t be,’ Augus said. ‘There’s no dog alive that can resist my compulsions. Come on then, _walk.’_

Gwyn was glad then of the gag in his mouth that hid the smile that tried to twitch at the corners of his lips as he didn’t move a muscle.

Augus made a sound of frustration, and Gwyn liked this, he realised. The game of it. Pretending that all of this was new. There was even the slightest flush of pride that he could resist Augus’ compulsions, and he’d not felt that at all in years. Instead, he cocked his head to the side, and pretended at confusion. The gods only knew that he’d seen enough of his own hounds do it, back in the day.

‘I suppose you think it’s funny,’ Augus said, a snarl at the edges of his soft voice. ‘Although…perhaps useful. I have enemies who also use compulsions. If you could ever be made to heel, it would be quite something to have a guard dog who could do my bidding and resist the compulsions of others. But you can’t even walk, can you?’

Gwyn shifted onto all fours and took a tentative step forwards, and then another. His shoulder throbbed, but the pain wasn’t so bad now that Augus had released the nerves.

‘That’s unexpected,’ Augus muttered. Augus pulled on the leash only a little, and Gwyn followed in the direction – only a few more paces – and then sat back on his heels again, looking up. ‘So,’ Augus said, ‘not one to appreciate compulsions then?’

Gwyn growled softly.

‘No one really is,’ Augus said, smirking. ‘That’s rather the whole point.’

Then, a strange expression passed over Augus’ face, and the smirk vanished. His grip on the leash became lax. Gwyn knew if he jerked his head away – not even that roughly – he’d seize it from Augus’ hand.

‘Do you know,’ Augus said, walking over to sit on the edge of the large bed, ‘I once knew someone – a fae, not a beast – who could resist compulsions too. But he…left.’

_No,_ Gwyn thought. He stared hard, but Augus wasn’t looking at him.

‘ _He_ rather enjoyed dogs. I could never much stand them, myself,’ Augus said, looking off as though into the distance.

_No, this isn’t the game!_

Gwyn grit his teeth down into the leather, had to swallow down another mouthful of saliva.

‘Only recently,’ Augus continued, while Gwyn wished that he _wouldn’t,_ ‘I had cause to think that there isn’t much point, beyond breaking hounds in. Perhaps, after you, I will follow him, wherever he went. I’m not even sure he’s alive, and I’m not sure that matters anymore.’

A muffled sound of protest, and then Gwyn reached up to undo whatever knots Augus had made at the back of his neck to free himself of the gag. But just as quickly Augus’ bent leg came up and his boot slammed down on the leash he still held. Gwyn was yanked to the floor, his hands coming down to brace himself. He coughed several times, and then focused on catching his breath.

‘No,’ Augus said.

Gwyn made a faint whining noise.

‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ Augus continued, and then laughed, ‘though I’m not sure if you _can_ understand me at all _,_ given the only command you seem to have listened to so far is ‘walk.’ It’s not that I don’t care for other matters – my brother, my home, my work, the hunt. Everything just seems _less…_ And I couldn’t ever _really_ follow him, because I reincarnate, and he… Well, everyone knows that common fae don’t.’

Gwyn blinked into the dark space under the bed. He’d never even considered that this might be something anyone could think of, let alone _Augus._ He was self-possessed and charming and able to make his own future, this was…

This had to be part of the game.

‘I’m not actually sure he’s even dead,’ Augus continued, his voice getting softer. ‘He vanished. He left no note. But he had vanished so many times in the past… And he was a wild creature, like you. I looked. But roaming the world looking for someone who both wants to disappear _and_ die at times is…futile.’

Gwyn felt his heart pounding in his chest. He’d never had to listen to anything like this before and he desperately didn’t want it to be true. But there was a quality to Augus’ voice, and Gwyn didn’t feel like he was in a game anymore.

Gwyn reached again for the leather knots at the back of his neck and Augus didn’t stop him this time. His nostrils flared as he tried to figure out what Augus had done, knowing that yanking hard wouldn’t be enough to snap the leather – not unless he was willing to lacerate his neck, probably. He half-expected Augus to stop him, but Augus was still, and saying nothing now.

He wasn’t able to undo the collar, but he found a way to get the leash around his mouth free. He unwound it quickly, wincing at the grazing at the corners of his mouth. He worked his jaw, but it wasn’t even sore. Not enough time had passed. All he felt were the places where Augus had dug his fingers into his cheeks before.

Gwyn sat back on his ankles – the other leash sliding free from underneath Augus’ boot – and looked up at Augus, and Augus watched him, then smiled ruefully.

‘If you ask me if this is what I intended when I started all of this, the answer is no.’

‘Augus…’

‘I thought it would be easier, somehow,’ Augus said. ‘I, of all people, _understand_ why you need to leave sometimes. I need it too.’

‘You wouldn’t…follow me,’ Gwyn said, his voice a rasp.

‘I couldn’t,’ Augus said, looking down. ‘I reincarnate. I’d return. I’d…forget you. There will probably not ever be another Each Uisge like me again.’

‘So you wouldn’t follow…’

‘What do you want me to say?’ Augus said, looking up, a strange smile playing about his lips. ‘Do you want me to promise you that I wouldn’t? Do you want me to blood oath to hold onto my grief and a shadowed life for as long as possible, until I was _made_ to forget you, through death? Which of the two is better? I don’t…truly know, to be honest.’

‘I’m not _dead,’_ Gwyn said. ‘Not even dying. Of the two of us, you’re the only one who has actually ever done that to us.’

Augus stared at him, his eyes widening, and then he laughed, the sound broken and quiet.

‘Yes, well,’ Augus said. ‘Of the two of us, you’re the one who keeps seeking it. Eventually you will find the quarry you hunt, Gwyn. And even if you don’t – how will I know? I tell myself when you vanish that you are just hunting, and that works for a week. Or two weeks. Then, I start to think- I start to think all sorts of things. I’m…biased, you see. I know what it’s like to have no one look for you, to not be found.’

Ice seemed to spread throughout Gwyn’s body, and he couldn’t quite think, let alone speak. But Augus looked down at the loop of the leash in his hands and took a deep, slow breath.

‘I know it’s not the same for you, nor the same situation. Woe betide anyone who tried to capture you anyway, I suppose. Though your mother did give it her fairest shot. But there are arrows out there with a poison on them that will slay you within minutes. There are people who may just be able to subdue you and torment you. Or you might just be hunting. There comes a time when I can no longer remind myself over and over that you are safe. It would be a crime to have experienced what I have, and then simply imagine that you are always safe. To say nothing of whether you’re ever safe from what goes on in that head of yours.’

‘I can stop doing it.’

‘No, you can’t,’ Augus said, his fingers curling around the leather. ‘Because you don’t _yet_ know how to think of it differently. Now? Yes. But you were becoming ready to return to me anyway. When you are first caught in whatever that storm is? No. You hear nothing but the storm. You teleport from people mid-sentence. It’s a curse, I think, knowing what it is, and then knowing in the same instant that I _cannot_ break through to you while you’re in it.’

‘I didn’t know you thought this way,’ Gwyn said, faintly accusatory. ‘I didn’t know it reminded you of being _taken.’_

‘I didn’t either,’ Augus said, rolling his eyes. ‘Blame Fenwrel for that piece of insight. She may wield no obvious weapons, that one, but her words are barbs enough.’

‘And her magic,’ Gwyn said.

‘Who knows, she is likely adept at weapons and we do not even know it yet.’

‘Augus, I know I am one of the more selfish creatures in this realm but if I had known it made you think this way…’ Gwyn sighed, and then he shifted so that he could lean his forehead against the quilt-covered mattress by Augus’ thigh. He shivered when he felt a palm rest on the back of his head, right where Augus might like to be touched if he needed soothing.

‘You know now,’ Augus said.

‘I’m not insightful like you,’ Gwyn said, turning his head so his voice wasn’t muffled. ‘I don’t see into the heart of things as adeptly, into the heart of _you._ I thought, at most, you would be inconvenienced. As I believed – _often believe_ – you are inconvenienced by me anyway. I didn’t wish to cause you grief.’

Augus said nothing at all. Gwyn wondered if he’d talked himself out. Augus tended only rarely to share how he felt about things, unless it was annoyances or general frustration. Even after all this time, Gwyn could almost never draw him out after a nightmare, or one of his episodes in the palace if he’d been badly frightened. Even now, Gwyn wondered at all the things that Augus wouldn’t say, that Gwyn might not know for years. Decades even.

It was that which made Gwyn think in the first place, that Augus could easily hide his feelings of being trapped or coerced, of being forced into this whole situation. But perhaps, perhaps it meant something else entirely.

Gwyn shifted and rested his forehead on Augus’ thigh, and then reached up and with his arm and placed it on Augus’ shin, curling his fingers around boot and trousers both.

If Augus was saying nothing for this long, then he wouldn’t want to speak of it anymore. At least, not now. Gwyn pressed his lips over the soft material of Augus’ trousers and tried to concentrate.

‘I liked it,’ Gwyn said, ‘being your unruly hound.’

‘I’d _never_ have guessed,’ Augus said, and Gwyn laughed then.

‘And you? Being the- ah, _perverse_ cruel handler? Was that…difficult?’

‘Believe it or not, that came quite naturally to me,’ Augus said lightly. ‘Perhaps I have a talent.’

‘ _Two_ leashes, Augus,’ Gwyn said.

‘I have four, actually, in that drawer,’ Augus said. ‘Always best to be prepared, etcetera.’

‘Do you wish to sleep here, tonight?’

‘In the palace?’ Augus said. ‘No. In my home? Your cabin? I believe it’s meant to rain this evening, and I do enjoy the sound of it in that cabin of yours. Draughty as it is.’

‘We could always-’

‘But,’ Augus said, his fingers tightening over Gwyn’s neck, where the collar lay, ‘the draughtiness is a lot easier to tolerate while I’m putting you through your paces. Perhaps it shall be _my_ cabin, and we’ll see if you know any commands other than ‘walk.’’

Gwyn rubbed Augus’ shin and nodded quietly.

‘But I also just wish to take care of you,’ Augus added. ‘I can’t quite decide.’

‘Can it not be both?’ Gwyn said, looking up.

Augus leaned down and kissed him.

‘Have I mentioned lately, how much I appreciate _greed_ as an Unseelie trait?’

‘Mm,’ Gwyn said, closing his eyes as his heart felt like it was swelling. ‘Not lately.’

‘Ah, you haven’t _been_ here, that’s why,’ Augus said, pulling on Gwyn’s hair, and then reaching behind him and drawing up the leash that was still wet with Gwyn’s saliva. ‘Now, are you going to open your mouth for me like a good dog? Or are you going to fight me? Your choice.’

Gwyn stared at him and then flushed as he opened his mouth, felt the leather return and tucked all the raw things that Augus had said to him away where he could go over them later.


	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter was meant to have a few things happening and then it ended up going in the opposite direction of where I thought it was headed? (Er so people expecting a sex scene, I apologise, I'll write one again some day, I'm sure). I think the next chapter will be the last. <3 Also, while the Welsh was pretty heavily researched, all mistakes are my own and I'll try and change them if anything isn't working! (There's not much anyway).

The only reason they still called it a cabin, was because Augus had called it that before it was built. Perhaps they’d both thought it would be something simple and homely. A room, maybe two rooms, a simple porch. But then as Augus had worked on his home beneath the water, Gwyn had felt driven to do something he’d never actually done before – use that locus of energy that fae could access to make a _true_ home. He’d used other energies to reform palaces, and he knew how to cut down a tree and prepare wood to _build_ something – he’d made most of his cabins by hand after all. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from creating something of permanence, something that truly belonged to _him,_ by the banks of Augus’ lake.

It was a cabin in that it was made of wood, it had exposed beams, it felt cosy. In all other ways, it was more of a sprawling, open-plan manor. The narrow frontage was deceiving, as it pushed back deeply into the woods. It was screened at the front with trees and shrubs, so that it wouldn’t disturb Augus when he wanted a sense of solitude.

The first time Augus had seen the inside of it – Gwyn still marvelling at the furs that had appeared, the blankets, the furniture – he’d placed his hands on his hips and said:

‘This is the largest cabin I’ve ever been in. Typical. Nothing about you is _small.’_

Since then, Augus subtly and unsubtly moved items into it. There was a large freestanding vase made of green, faceted glass. It caught the light that streamed in from skylights and painted the pine and furs with one of Augus’ favourite colours. There was a bookshelf of heavy tomes and herbals that Augus said he wasn’t using much anymore and needed to place in ‘storage.’ Alongside cured furs, woven patterned rugs appeared on the floorboards in bright geometric shapes that looked like fall leaves on water, or the swirls of foam on a fast flowing river.

Gwyn knew Augus wouldn’t have put many of these things in his own underwater home, and sometimes wondered if Augus used the cabin as a place to experiment with more frivolous tastes. Everything beneath the water was spare, clean, carefully furnished.

Augus also placed pot plants throughout all the rooms – vines and creepers, small squat Drosera with sticky-dew leaves that curled up hungrily when Augus fed them flies, and then flowers – bluebells, oddly scented poppies and more. Gwyn had cautioned he wouldn’t be there enough to tend them, but Augus – with whatever magic he had – kept them all flourishing.

‘It’s more convenient than growing them outside,’ Augus said once. ‘I don’t want them ruining the ecosystem. But I still want them accessible.’

‘Why not in your home?’ Gwyn had responded.

‘Because they don’t like the energy there,’ Augus had said. ‘Not all plants get along with me, some of them need this vague, warrior-ish, oaf-type energy. This is perfect.’

‘Okay, Augus,’ Gwyn had said, smiling.

It reminded him a little of his mother and the way she’d tended plants, but after a few weeks of contemplating it, Gwyn decided he didn’t mind. There were some things about Crielle he’d rather never think of again, including how she’d crafted a poison just for him from her plants. But he had fond, confused memories of watching her caring for her plants in her garden, and watching Augus do the same in his home set off a strange, wistful nostalgia.

Now, he knelt on one of Augus’ rugs in the living room, a collar of leather around his neck, a leash in his mouth, another in Augus’ hand. He still reeled from what Augus had told him – about his fears, his worries. He didn’t want to think about it, not now, he needed to wait until he was calmer, grounded. Until he could look at it properly, and not simply panic and beg Augus to not think and feel the way he did. It wasn’t fair, and Gwyn knew Augus had a right to all of those things he thought and felt, even if Gwyn didn’t know what to do with them.

He pressed closer to Augus’ leg, then rolled his forehead into Augus’ thigh. He wanted to give him something, but he wasn’t sure what Augus needed. From the way Augus was standing there, perhaps he didn’t know either.

Then, because he could, perhaps because of the gag and the game they were supposed to be playing, he started butting his forehead into Augus’ leg.

He did it until Augus stepped backwards, a sharp exhale that could have been laughter, and then the leash that Augus was holding jerked hard.

‘ _So_ disobedient, what do you _want?_ I hope you understand this isn’t about your whims, but _mine.’_

Gwyn moved towards him, as though to bunt his forehead into Augus’ thigh again, and Augus bent his leg and blocked him, then pulled the leash sideways so that Gwyn had to halt. Gwyn tilted his head, looked up, and Augus’ eyes gleamed in that way that meant he was smiling even when his lips were thinned like he was displeased.

Gwyn reached up – tucking his fingers under to resemble a paw, and pushed it faux-clumsily into Augus’ hip. Then, he went up onto his knees and did it again with both hands, trying to push him backwards. Augus didn’t budge, and Gwyn thought he saw the moment when Augus went from feeling amused, to having to stop himself from laughing.

Augus pushed his boot to Gwyn’s good shoulder and pushed him back several paces, shaking his head in disapproval.

‘One can only think that perhaps they sold me a deviant,’ Augus said speculatively, staring at him. ‘Pawing at my crotch like that. Hm? What did your last owners do to you? I’d almost feel sorry for you, except you seem eager enough.’

Gwyn watched as Augus dropped elegant fingers to the buckle of his belt, sliding the leather through, then removing it easily and dropping it to the ground. Then, he moved his hands to the buttons of his trousers and undid the first, then the second, then the zip. He placed his hands on his hips and lifted his eyebrows in challenge.

In response, Gwyn used his ‘paw’ to wipe clumsily at the gag, and then cocked his head in confusion. But he lifted his own eyebrows.

_How do you expect me to do_ that?

Still, as Augus looked like he was going to smile – lips going taut where he was refusing it – Gwyn crawled forwards and pushed his face into Augus’ hip. Then, because he could, because he was worried about Augus, because he wanted to see what would happen, he opened his mouth wide around the gag and then let all the saliva that had been collecting in his mouth make a damp patch against Augus’ thigh.

He could tell when Augus became aware of it, by the stiffening in his legs, and then the sound of a sharp, amused exhale.

‘Gwyn, that’s _disgusting.’_

Gwyn dragged his mouth down and made another wet patch above Augus’ knee.

‘What- No- That’s…’ Augus unclipped the gag from the collar and then unwound it, and Gwyn looked up to make it easier, catching the despairing, fond smile on Augus’ face that caused a pang in his chest.

Gwyn cleared his throat, and then pressed his forehead to Augus’ other leg, uncertain. That heavy despair of a week ago had faded away. He could feel it lingering, a bitter aftertaste on his palate. He couldn’t tell if he’d lost this battle because of weakness, or because it was a battle he was supposed to lose.

Hands gathered up his hair, then smoothed down and splayed over his scalp, and Augus held him in place. Gwyn thought he could feel the moment when the game had fallen apart, perhaps to be resumed another time. He would happily play at being the unruly, wild dog that needed taming by a perverse owner. But now, after all Augus had said, Gwyn wanted to be only himself, and he wanted the same from Augus.

‘This is your home,’ Augus said, and Gwyn nodded, knowing that Augus meant more than the cabin. He nuzzled his face against Augus’ leg, thinking he should feel ashamed of this, even _try_ to, but he couldn’t find anything more than a deeper knowledge that this was where he was supposed to be. He thought of Julvia, he thought of what it might be for a swanmaiden to give their heart to someone, and then he thought of Gulvi, happy with Fenwrel, but still seeking Ash like a compass a couple of times a week.

It could all be so very complicated, but this – now – was simple.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gwyn said, his voice rough.

‘Don’t be,’ Augus said, scratching his fingers over Gwyn’s head in the way he must have done for Ash, for years. Then, Gwyn wondered how it was for Augus, to have the people he’d chosen to spend his time with always vanish. First Ash, disappearing for weeks and months on end on a regular basis – never saying where he was going or when he’d return, and now Gwyn.

‘Why?’ Gwyn said. ‘It hurts you.’

‘Because I know you don’t do it to hurt me,’ Augus said, his voice softer, deeper than before. Sadder, somehow. ‘I know you think it will make me happy. I know you’re _wrong,_ but I’ve spent enough time alive to know that sometimes the satisfaction of being right doesn’t always win out.’ A pause, then: ‘Though, most of the time, it’s wonderful being right nearly all the time. I imagine that’s how Fenwrel feels almost every day.’

Gwyn laughed, and Augus bent down and tucked his fingers along the bottom of the collar, then lifted it, stroking Gwyn’s neck as he did so. Gwyn shuddered, sensation trickling all the way down his spine.

‘But just for a little while,’ Augus said, ‘you might want to consider not leaving again. At least for a few more weeks.’

‘Okay, Augus,’ Gwyn said, reaching up and uncurling his fingers and pressing them to Augus’ waist instead.

A minute passed, another, and then Gwyn stood and the hands at Augus’ waist became arms around his shoulders, then arms drawing Augus closer, meeting over his spine. It had taken so long for Gwyn to realise he could do this, hold Augus close, and that Augus not only wouldn’t fight him, but would press his whole body against Gwyn’s and lean in. He could feel Augus’ breaths, slow and measured, maybe deliberately so. Could feel the dampness of Augus’ mane against his fingers, a droplet of water making its way over the back of Gwyn’s hand and tickling his skin.

‘You smell good,’ Gwyn said.

‘I know,’ Augus said, and Gwyn smiled then.

‘Really? Who else has been telling you?’

‘Everyone. Why, just two days ago, I was stopped in the throne room by a complete stranger who then proceeded to effusively tell me how delightful my scent was.’

‘I find that hard to believe,’ Gwyn said.

‘Stranger things have happened. Though, actually, I was stopped in the throne room to be reminded that I wouldn’t be allowed to live forever for all the crimes I had committed against the Unseelie and Seelie Court. I agreed with him, and we went on our separate ways. I think Gulvi had him ejected from the palace.’

Gwyn gathered Augus closer, pressed his cheek into the side of Augus’ head. These things, Gwyn wanted to erase them somehow, undo them. Augus would say it was his responsibility, his fault to bear, but Gwyn thought of nightingales and ravens and how it was possible to hate the Raven Prince with venom, while everyone else – even Augus – still loved him.

‘It’s a shame I wasn’t there,’ Gwyn said.

‘Trust me,’ Augus said, ‘nothing would have made me happier than to see you literally pick someone up by the scruff of their cheap, tawdry coat and toss them from the Court.’

‘Next time then.’

‘Next time,’ Augus said. His hands were linked at Gwyn’s lower back, and he turned them and pressed his palms flat, breathing deeply.

Five minutes later, Gwyn said: ‘We should move.’

‘Should we? Did you issue some mandate? No embraces to last longer than a few minutes? I’m about to commit treason.’

Augus’ arms tightened around him.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, faux-chastising, ‘you can’t just commit treason whenever something doesn’t go your way.’

‘Life experience has taught me that it can,’ Augus said, his voice muffled in Gwyn’s shirt.

Gwyn risked reaching up with one hand cupping the back of Augus’ head, and Augus made a faint sound of outrage – perhaps that Gwyn would even dare to comfort him so – and then sagged against him. Gwyn smiled to himself, closed his eyes, could still feel the weight of the second leash attached to the collar – the one that Augus still held in his hand.

‘Mae hyn yn berffaith,’ Augus said, with a lilt.

_This is perfect._

Gwyn opened his mouth to tease, to say that it was very much like Augus, to be so mawkish. Something like sarcasm, almost, because Augus could be sweet but this was…different. After a moment, Gwyn closed his mouth and leaned closer, frowning. Perhaps it wasn’t something to poke at. Perhaps it wasn’t about that at all, but what Augus needed too.

‘You are perfect,’ Gwyn said finally, feeling as though his voice would always be rough and loud next to Augus’, even if he spoke softly.

‘Am I?’ Augus said, and Gwyn heard the faint smile in his voice. ‘Then I must take it with me wherever I go. Perhaps I shouldn’t let you stray too far from me in the future.’

It was then that Gwyn had an idea that formed fully, as though it had been waiting there all along. Not a blood oath, not a promise, but something else entirely. He’d not speak it now, but… _maybe…_

‘Eich bod yn berffaith,’ Gwyn said, the words a little clumsy. _You are perfect._ He had cause to speak many languages, to know many, but Welsh was different. His parents had always steered him away from it, despite the name he bore, the land he was raised on – as though they didn’t want him to have any part of it.

‘It seems truer, when you say it like that,’ Augus said. He tugged on the leash a few times, and Gwyn coughed. ‘Stop distracting me with flattery. I said _this_ is perfect, Gwyn. This, you, the both of us here.’

‘With spit on your trousers. And your fly undone.’

Augus’ head thumped into Gwyn’s chest.

‘I give up,’ he muttered.

‘Okay, Augus,’ Gwyn said.

Augus responded by digging blunted claws into Gwyn’s sides. Gwyn winced, grunted, and bore the pain of it, unable to stop smiling at the feeling of being able to tease gently, and get away with it. Augus was right anyway - this was perfect.


	12. XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we've reached the last chapter of this little novella. I hope you've all enjoyed the coda that this kind of is, and omg, there's some things in this chapter I didn't expect to happen. Well, one thing. You'll see what it is, at the end. :) Thank you for reading! <3 I love this little faedom.

Gwyn slid out of bed – still collared, but no longer leashed – and turned to look at Augus, who was actually sleeping. Not napping, but _sleeping._ He slept so deeply that he wouldn’t notice Gwyn going to a private living room to fetch a small circle of polished serpentine stone and another of granite from a bowl of gemstones that he collected and bought and found. Gwyn brought them back to the bed, sat cross-legged next to Augus, looked down at him. He moved the cool stones in his hands, thinking about what he should do.

Once, Gwyn had made Augus a charm so that Augus could contact him during dire emergency. For a while, Augus had carried the crystal with him, and then one day he’d placed it on a counter and said:

‘I feel as though I should always be expecting death when I carry this. I’m not as foolhardy as I was. Take it back.’

Augus had never picked it up again, and while Gwyn had wished there was a way Augus could contact him if near death, Augus hadn’t ever been in a situation so dire ever again. Eventually, they had both forgotten about it.

But now, Gwyn thought of charms again, thought of what he needed to make.

Finding the threads of his untrained magic was never difficult. But making the threads do what he wanted was hard. They lived inside of him always – a gentle, sure energy, almost like the sea in how they ebbed and flowed. He couldn’t grasp them with his fingers, and he couldn’t do much with them, except pour them into small objects and keep his mind bent towards the wish he wanted to make true.

Charm magic was a thing of lesser Mages, and Gwyn didn’t want to learn to do anything more with it than this. Fenwrel, sometimes, tried to poke him into an interest, but he could feel himself shutting down whenever she so much as mentioned his magic potential. Why, after thousands of years of living with his light, fighting it, wrestling with it, _hating_ it, would he want to deal with anything that might be like that again? His magic, whatever it was – likely _lesser_ – stayed dormant, it didn’t need him or fight him, it was nothing more than a sea, and unlike his light, it didn’t push him hungrily, it didn’t _demand._

Hours passed, and Gwyn set the charms in both of the stones and knew when the magic would be sure. Perhaps a Mage could teach him how to do it faster, but Gwyn liked these moments where he could focus so intensely he’d forget everything else except what he wanted to achieve. What he was trying to give to Augus.

Eventually, he set the stones down on the bedside table and touched the collar at his neck, then lay down next to Augus and wrapped an arm around his side, pressing his face close to Augus’ neck. They’d not done anything more than be close to one another, the evening spent talking and touching. Augus had exerted his control again and been the one to determine how they’d touch, when, and even decided to cut Gwyn’s hair. His hair was the shortest it had been for a while, tickling the tops of his ears.

He didn’t let himself sleep, but he let himself doze.

*

In the morning, Augus didn’t wake, and nightmares didn’t visit.

Gwyn wandered through the forest, finding warm pheasant eggs for breakfast and eating them raw, before looking for berries and sating himself on wild mushrooms. Then, he stood by Augus’ lake and stared at the surface of it, the ripples in the water, and then closed his eyes, trying to keep the weight of all he was supposed to be doing at bay. Gulvi was a fantastic step-in for Queen when he was absent, but ultimately, there were things only he could manage. He would return to the palace, and there would be an unending list of items to see to.

‘This doesn’t belong to the Court, and the Court doesn’t belong in this place,’ Gwyn said quietly.

He opened his eyes, looked around, and then with a quiet sigh, walked back to his cabin.

*

Nightmares came in the afternoon, and Gwyn stood in the doorway watching, knowing that Augus hated being witnessed, hated waking and knowing someone was in the room to see his distress. Gwyn rubbed at his forehead and then clenched his fists and then walked down the corridor and came back again.

His instincts told him to go and comfort Augus, but his instincts and Augus’ instincts were not the same, and he had to respect that Augus was a waterhorse that desired to not feel humiliated or shamed. Gwyn suspected after the raw evening they’d had, after Augus’ increased sentiment, perhaps he’d hate to have his vulnerability witnessed more than normal. It was Gwyn who liked to be woken by someone comforting him, and Gwyn made himself remember that Augus wasn’t the same, wanted different things.

Still, he said quiet things from the doorway, not to wake him, but to hopefully soothe.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, ‘it’s okay. I swear it. You’re not there anymore. There’s light. So much light. It’s afternoon, your lake is waiting for you, and no one here wants to hurt you.’

So he continued until Augus seemed to settle. Gwyn wanted to stay to see if he’d wake, but it was best to give Augus space to realise that it was afternoon, sunny, and the wooden walls and floorboards were bathed in light. His house was never truly dark – panes of glass and open spaces everywhere, lamps and candles throughout, plants flourishing because of it.

An hour later – Gwyn working on his calligraphy in a room dedicated to the art of it and trying not to get frustrated with how much skill he’d lost from not practicing enough – Augus appeared, leaning against the doorframe, self-composed as ever.

‘Bore da,’ Augus said, smiling. _Good morning._

‘Prynhawn,’ Gwyn corrected. _Afternoon._

‘Well then,’ Augus said, stepping into the room. He stood behind Gwyn, looking down at what he was writing, and then took two items out of his pocket and placed them down next to the parchment. It was a ring of serpentine and another of granite. Both were too large for a finger, perhaps waiting for bits of leather to tie them. ‘Look what I found.’

‘It’s…’ Gwyn stared at it, and then touched his fingers to them, feeling the magic in both. ‘One is for you. The serpentine. It’s green, so I thought- I know you don’t wear jewellery, but…I want you to find a way to wear this.’

‘A hagstone?’ Augus asked.

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said. ‘Though I had it polished and shaped. The hole is natural. For the both of them.’

‘All those humans, thinking they’ll be able to see us truly if they look through.’

‘Some of us,’ Gwyn said, turning to look up at him. ‘But…it’s not for that. This one is for you. I was going to give it to you properly, or present it, but I suppose- It’s charmed. I can’t blood oath to you that I won’t leave or do anything dire, and I can’t promise it in words that are too easily broken. I gave you a charm once, to contact me when something dire befell _you,_ and I think we both failed to see what we really need a communication stone for.’

Augus’ face was impassive, and then he picked up the serpentine and turned it in his fingers, staring at it. Gwyn picked up the granite and thought of the red leather he always wore at his ankle. It would be easy enough to attach the stone to it, or shift the leather to his wrist.

‘Here,’ Gwyn said, ‘hold yours in your palm.’

Augus closed his fingers over it, and Gwyn held his own and closed his eyes – though he didn’t strictly need to, the charm was certain and not hard to reach. Then, it was easy enough to send a pulse of magic, a reminder that he was there. It wasn’t as clear as a message, just a touch against Augus’ energy.  

A few seconds later, Gwyn felt some flash of recognition in himself, something distinctively _Augus,_ and realised that Augus had intuited what the charms were for. No messages of words or sentences, but a quiet ping of recognition.

_I am still here._

‘They work,’ Gwyn said, looking at him. ‘It’s not much. But at least like this…I can show you that I’m around, somewhere. And I hope this is something I can respond to, without feeling as though I am harming you. When I become convinced that it is best for me to be _away,_ responding to you would only take a second, and require me to think of nothing more than letting you know I am somewhere, even if I am not near you.’

Augus stared down at the stone, and then Gwyn felt another flash of energy from him, strangely warm, given Augus often felt coolish to the touch. It was like being touched on the shoulder, or feeling a hand at the small of his back. Brief, but nourishing.

Augus smirked when he looked up.

‘I’m going to use this _mercilessly,’_ Augus said, laughing, ‘when you’re gone. I hope you realise what you’ve done.’

Gwyn hesitated, then hoped the novelty would wear off soon enough. And again, another of those flashes of energy from Augus, and he could see Augus studying him, watching for his reaction.

‘It’s not a toy,’ Gwyn said, scowling at him.

Augus grinned, and Gwyn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Augus had clearly woken up in something of a playful mood, which could always turn dangerous in a second. Then, Gwyn frowned and realised-

‘Augus, when was the last time you hunted? Have you been at all since I left?’

A sigh, and Augus turned the polished serpentine in his hands.

‘In truth, I should go soon,’ Augus said. ‘In a day or two. But I’m not ready yet.’

Augus held the stone up to his eye, looking through it. Rumour was that hagstones – those that had holes naturally bored through them – would remove a glamour, would make the bearer see what lay beyond. But in truth, the most powerful fae had nothing to fear from them. Gwyn found them fascinating, and collected them anyway.

‘I don’t like to wear anything around my neck,’ Augus said quietly, looking through it. ‘So I think I’ll wear this at my wrist, if you don’t mind. And you?’

‘I was thinking the same,’ Gwyn said, unable to hide how pleased he felt that Augus hadn’t rejected it, seemed to like it. He’d never offered Augus jewellery in the past, noting that Augus never wore it, not even to special events. At most, he might have some pretty cufflinks, or even a tie pin or brooch, but he seemed to eschew it otherwise. Perhaps it reminded him of bondage, or something else, Gwyn could never be sure.

But here Augus was, suggesting wearing it around his wrist.

‘Will it help?’ Gwyn said.

‘If you remember to use it, then…yes, I think it will,’ Augus said, looking where Gwyn’s fingers still curled over his own stone. ‘Even if we forget, this is more than I’d expected on the matter. Don’t tell Fenwrel. She’ll think she’s somehow given me sage advice, recommending I talk to you.’

‘Yes, it’s not as though you’ve ever tried to get me to do the same,’ Gwyn said soberly. ‘What a horrible woman.’

‘Exactly,’ Augus said. ‘What are you working on today? Transcription? Translation?’

‘The latter,’ Gwyn said, turning back to his work, Augus peering over his shoulder. Fingers trailed up his back and then tapped the collar a few times. Gwyn leaned back into the touch, thought that Augus should go hunting today but that he wasn’t ready for Augus to go. He was aware of the hypocrisy of it, but deliberately pushed that aside. He still felt not quite tethered back into the world around him.

This would help.

*

In the evening, Augus lounged on the pelt of a great black wolf before the fireplace, the crackling fire casting a honeyed glow over his features, sometimes highlighting flashes of green in his black mane. Gwyn thought he looked so much like a waterhorse then – how many stories were there about the Each Uisge who craved to feel the warmth of a fire? Who could be tamed before one? Even bridled and haltered?

Augus combed his own fingers through his mane and gazed into the fire, his features untroubled for once. From his wrist hung a serpentine disk with a hollow in the centre, attached by a band of black leather.

Later, as Gwyn made them both some tea, Augus said: ‘ _Would_ you try _Cannabis_ again?’

‘Perhaps,’ Gwyn said. ‘I don’t like how candid it makes me.’

Augus looked up in understanding, as Gwyn brought the pot and teacups over. They were so finely wrought – a gift for Augus by a delegation of brownies, made of leaves that never leaked and stayed cool to the touch, despite keeping the tea hot and never over-brewed to bitterness. A magic thing. He lowered the tray between them, and sat on the remainder of the wolf pelt.

‘Perhaps,’ Gwyn said again. He poured Augus’ cup and set it on the hearth, before the flames. Augus only drank lukewarm tea.

Gwyn turned his thoughts to Ash, and his attempts to help Gwyn. Then to Fenwrel and Julvia, even to Gulvi, who helped not by visiting and listening, but by taking up responsibilities she had no real interest in. He would have to thank her later. All of them – strange misfit family that they had become – had each tried to offer something. And in their own way, each of them had. From Julvia’s reminder that Gwyn’s home was with Augus, to Ash giving up his rooms for a few days, letting Gwyn sleep there and seeming to have no problem with it at all.

It was nothing like what Gwyn understood family to be, and yet he knew it for what it was.

‘All right,’ Augus said, gesturing down at the pelt. ‘Your turn.’

‘Hm?’

‘Rest your head in my lap,’ Augus said, shifting into a cross-legged position.

Gwyn hesitated, and then turned onto his back and ended up looking up at Augus upside down. Augus wasted no time, threading his fingers through Gwyn’s hair, ‘combing’ it out, even though it didn’t need it.

‘All the tales say that waterhorses like this,’ Gwyn said, his eyes closing, his scalp feeling warm and prickly and pleasant, ‘but anyone would.’

‘Mm,’ Augus said, a smile in his voice. His fingers were clever, the tips of claws creating sharper sensations that never hurt, then the pads of his fingers rubbing and smoothing out the feel of it. Moments like this, Gwyn thought Augus could have been an artist or a musician.

‘Do you play any instruments?’ Gwyn said abruptly. ‘Ash plays guitar.’

‘Oh,’ Augus said, sounding surprised, ‘aside from singing, I can fiddle. I knew a little, and then the Raven Prince… One of the many facets of my education in becoming a Court fae, I suppose. I didn’t like doing it for others. You?’

‘War drums,’ Gwyn said.

‘Of _course.’_

Augus stroked Gwyn’s hair away from his face, and then stroked it the other way. He sometimes grasped it in both of his hands, then let the curls bounce in his palms. That became thumbs smoothing over Gwyn’s forehead, meeting in the middle above the bridge of his nose and then moving firmly out towards his temples. Over and over again, until Gwyn made a sleepy, rumbling sound and his breathing slowed.

It became obvious that Augus was content as time passed and he showed no interest in stopping. He only varied his motions, seemed to be doing them as much for himself as he was for Gwyn.

Gwyn was beginning to feel touch-drunk and sleepy, and he reached up with a hand and touched it to Augus’ knee, rubbing it gently.

‘I like it when you speak Welsh,’ Gwyn said. ‘It’s like a memory, somehow. Maybe that’s just your voice.’

Augus bent over him and said:

‘Ti yw fy nghariad.’

Gwyn’s heart clenched, he couldn’t quite draw a breath. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard something like it, but this was…

_You are my love._

Gwyn opened his eyes and found himself looking into Augus’ green ones, shadowed by the damp mane that touched the sides of Gwyn’s face.

‘Rwy’n dy garu di,’ Gwyn said. _I love you._

Augus beamed at him, then straightened and went back to petting and stroking Gwyn’s hair.

‘I think I’d like it,’ Augus said, ‘if you spoke Welsh more.’

Eyes closing, Gwyn sighed out a large breath. He felt warmer than the fire alone could make him.

‘I could manage that,’ Gwyn said.

Gwyn thought of the stone at Augus’ wrist that sometimes brushed against his face and the magic between them both, made of words and touch and more. In that moment it would have been easy to promise that he’d never leave, to blood oath that he’d always stay. Gwyn knew the sensation wouldn’t last, chased away by the shadows of his past, the threats in the future – but right now, he believed it was stronger than anything he’d ever felt, and that was all that mattered as the night stretched on before them.


End file.
